


No One's Gonna Love You

by ender4



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Hate Sex, M/M, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:49:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 79,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ender4/pseuds/ender4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor and Murphy MacManus were separated when they were only a few months old. Now that his Da has been arrested, Connor finds out that not only is his Ma alive, but that he has a twin brother as well. Murphy's life is turned upside down when his Ma reveals that she gave birth to twins, and both boys begin a tumultuous relationship that starts with hatred and turns into something else, something forbidden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. They could have warned you

**Author's Note:**

> This is rated for twincest; don't like, don't read!
> 
> I own nothing!
> 
> I am so very much not Irish, so please don't judge me too harshly on any mistakes. I apologize to anyone who is Irish if I offend you with my ignorance.
> 
> That said, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

Chapter One-- They could have warned you

 

Connor MacManus grew up on the lam. Well, more accurately, his Da was on the lam, and Connor traveled with him. Being a hitman apparently got you on the wrong side of the law. Connor learned to shoot a gun when he was six. He drove his first get-away car when he was ten, when his Da’s partner got shot, and it fell on little Connor to get them the hell outta there before the coppers showed up.

 

He was what some people would call uneducated. Others would call him home-schooled, though he had no proper teacher. As Da was on the run, he couldn’t enroll his son in school, so Connor got his textbooks from thrift stores. He received homework assignments from the men that Da worked with. The most interesting people he’d ever known were so-called criminals, and Connor reckoned they had to be pretty feckin’ smart to have gone this long without getting caught.

 

There were worse people to learn from, in his opinion. He didn’t get lessons from spoiled, sheltered pricks that couldn’t tell a 9 mm pistol from a 38 special. He wasn’t forced to write papers on the history of Russia or some such shite. Instead, he learned about Ireland.

 

He grew up in Dublin, mostly, when he and his Da could afford to stay in one place for more than a couple of months. That was where the guys always got back together, to discuss what’d been accomplished, and to shoot the shit with like-minded individuals.

 

It’s at such a meeting that Connor sits today, the last day he will understand his life as it was. It is on this day, at this meeting, in fact, that his Da is ripped from him. They are seated at the poker table, a cigar in his father’s mouth and a cigarette in his own--- since he’s turned sixteen, his Da has lightened up about the smoking rules--- when the door is busted in and uniformed policemen swarm in, guns drawn.

 

The men seated around the room all seem to twitch towards their weapons, and collectively grimace as they realize they are outgunned.

 

A man in a long tan trench coat steps forward, pistol trained on Connor’s Da’s face, and Connor moves to stand in front of it. His Da’s hand immediately shoots forward to grasp the back of Connor’s shirt and tries to shove him aside, but Connor won’t budge. This man won’t hurt his father without going through him.

 

Instead of being angry, the man smiles, and lowers his gun. “Eh, sonny, I weren’t gonna shoot yer old man. Jus’ gonna arrest him.”

 

“Like hell you will,” Connor shoots back, his face a mask of fury.

 

The man’s head cocks to the side, and he waves a young officer forward. “O’Neil, take this young man to tha precinct. Find out who ‘e is, if ‘e’s got a mother or anythin’.” The officer nods and takes a step closer to Connor, who widens his stance and prepares to fight.

 

He tenses when he feels a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll do me no good like this, Connor. Go with this man, now, and I’ll be seein’ ya later,” his Da murmurs into his ear.

 

Connor’s hands clench into tight fists. Fuck this, he hates being unable to do anything!

 

He listens to his Da, because he always does, and goes quietly with the officer. He turns around before exiting the room, and sees the man in the coat tightening handcuffs on his Da’s wrists.

 

Hatred boils in his gut, and he walks out of the room.

 

 

 

 

 

 

At the precinct, he is fingerprinted and run through the system, and inwardly Connor is smug about this. He knows they won’t find anything. His Ma died giving birth to him, as his Da told him. And has no grandparents, as they’ve all passed as well.

 

He figures he’ll end up going to an orphanage, as they can’t charge him with anything—if they could, they would’ve already mentioned it--- but he’s not too bothered. He’ll stay as long as he needs to before he can get back to his Da. He knows the old man’ll figure a way outta this.

 

The officer who is running his prints makes an interested sound. Connor watches as he prints out a piece of paper, and walks with it to his superior’s office. A while later, Connor is approached by an older man, a little older than Da, he’d guess, who sits down in the chair previously occupied by the officer.

 

The man holds out his hand and introduces himself as Sergeant Riley. Connor ignores him. Riley sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

 

“Son, I know ya been raised on the wrong side ‘o the law, but things’ll be changin’ fer ya now. You’ll go home ta yer Ma, and start a new life,” he says.

 

Connor stares at him blankly. What the fuck is he on about?

 

“I’ve called her, and she can’t wait ta see you again, she said. My assistant is printin’ out a train ticket fer ya now. Dunno if ya remember, as she says ya were a wee lad when she saw ya last, but she lives in Cork, with the rest o’ yer family.”

 

Connor decides that the man is off his rocker. But no matter, he thinks. He can take the ticket, travel to Cork, and get a job. He’ll support himself until his Da can get free. It’s better than living in an orphanage, anyway.

 

He shrugs at the man, and Riley smiles, obviously relieved to get some form of acceptance from Connor. He stands up to finish the preparations for Connor’s trip.

 

The next morning, Connor boards a train to Cork.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Murphy walks home from school, his split lip still bleeding, though he’s been holding a napkin to it for ten minutes already.

 

Bloody fucking asshole, he thinks. He’d get that fucker Flaherty. Teach him to talk about his Ma.

 

Murphy slams the front door as he stalks inside, his loping grace carrying him up the stairs to his bedroom. He opens the cabinet in his small bathroom and takes out the antiseptic and liquid bandages. He swabs both on and watches as the blood stops running from his bottom lip.

 

Arsehole Flaherty got in a lucky hit, but Murphy’d teach him tomorrow that one hit was all you got on Murphy MacManus before he beat your arse into the ground. He would’ve taught him that today, if that teacher hadn’t come over to investigate the ruckus.

 

Murphy lies down on his bed and picks up the book he’s been reading, _East of Eden_. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have a brother, but judging from this book, he’s glad of it. It sounds like more trouble than it’s worth.

 

He’s wrapped up in the novel for a few hours, until he hears his Ma come home from the pub. She works most days, and goes back most nights to blow the tips she earns. She’s usually home long enough to make Murphy some dinner and make sure he’s finished his chores and homework, then she’s off again.

 

When he walks into the kitchen, he can smell the whisky before he even hugs her. “Christ, woman, can't ya wait ‘til yer off the clock ‘for gettin’ pissed?”

 

She turns and smacks him on the head. “Shut yer hole, ya ungrateful shite. O’Malley spilled his whiskey on me, the drunkard.”

 

Murphy rubs the back of his head tenderly. “Sure he did, Ma. So, what’s fer dinner?”

 

She rolls her eyes at him. “Nothin’ if ya keep up with that smart mouth o’ yers.”

 

He holds up his hands apologetically. “I’m just teasin’ ya, Ma. ‘m sorry. Forgive me?” he asks, sticking out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout.

 

She tries to hold in a laugh, but fails. “Fine, yer forgiven. We’ve got roast, carrots and potatoes tonight.” When she sees Murphy’s face scrunch up, she holds up a hand threateningly. “An’ you’ll eat ev’ry last carrot on yer plate, young man, or you’ll be eaten carrots fer the rest o’ tha month, I swear to ya.”

 

Murphy sighs, and nods. His Ma grins smugly and turns back to cooking. Murphy starts to set the table, but hears the phone ring in the family room and moves to answer it.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hello, may I please speak with Annabelle MacManus?” The person on the line sounds professional, so Murphy calls out to his Ma. She hates solicitors, but this doesn't sound like one.

 

His Ma walks in. “Yeah?”

 

He holds out the phone. “Fer you. Don’ think it’s a solicitor.”

 

She takes the phone, and Murphy walks back to the kitchen to finish setting their small table. He can barely hear her, but he makes out when her voice rises in alarm. He stops what he’s doing to listen better.

 

“Are ya sure?” he hears her ask, with what he swears is a sob in her voice. There’s a momentary silence.

 

“Yes, o’ course. I haven’t seen ‘im since he were a babe, but I hope he remembers…” she trails off. “No, I guess not.”

 

Murphy’s brow furrows at this strange conversation. Who hasn't his Ma seen since he was a baby?

 

“Aye, I’ll be there. Three o’clock. Aye. Thank ya. Bye.” He hears her hang up the phone, but it’s a couple of minutes before she reappears in the kitchen, her eyes red rimmed.

 

“Who was tha’, Ma?” he asks concernedly.

 

She shakes her head. “I’ll tell ya tomorrow. We’ll be havin’ a guest over, so I expect ya to be home straight after school. I’ll take off early from work, and I’ll meet ya back here.”

 

“A guest?” he asks. “Who?”

 

His Ma shoots him a glare, and points at the boiling potatoes. “Hush, now, I said I’ll tell ya tomorrow. Mash those and leave me be.”

 

Murphy does as she asks, but can’t stop thinking about who could possibly be coming over. All of their family already lives here, so it’s not a relative. Who could it be?

 

For the rest of the night, he is decidedly distracted. His Ma is too much the same to notice, though.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Connor steps off the train and searches for the exit. He needs to take a taxi into town so he can start his job hunt. As he’s scanning the terminal for an exit sign, he sees a woman approach him, a hesitant smile on her face.

 

She’s shorter than he is, by about a foot, he’s guessing, as he’s almost six feet tall now and she’s rather small. But she’s also round about the middle, not fat, but plump. She has brown hair and a weathered face, like she’s known the hard life and lived through it.

 

“Connor?” she says as she approaches him. His brow furrows. How does she know his name?

 

“Yeah?” he asks warily.

 

“That is ya, then?” she persists. Honestly, he thinks. Would he have answered her if it weren’t his name? She seems to sense his annoyance, because she smiles. “It’s uncanny,” she mutters, and Connor is confused all the more.

 

“Look, ma’am, is there somethin’ yer needin’?” Connor asks, impatient now.

 

She smiles. “Turpentine.”

 

Connor’s mouth drops open. What is she on about? Surely she doesn’t know what she’s saying---

 

“Aye, sonny, I know what it means. I’m the one tha’ came up with it, in case yer Da got himself caught. Now do ya trust me?” she asks, a gleam in her eye.

 

Connor’s jaw clenches. Who is this woman? Does she know Da? Grudgingly, he nods at her. His Da always said to trust the person who knew the password, and as juvenile as he found it, he figures that his Da knew that this could happen one day. He knew that Connor would be left alone.

 

And apparently, if his Da was taken, the plan was always to send him here, to this woman. His gaze sweeps her up and down as she leads him out of the train station. She seems oddly familiar, somehow.

 

He decides he’ll figure it out later, when she tells him who she is.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Murphy walks straight home after school, as his Ma told him to. He doesn’t even kick the shit out of Flaherty, though he dearly wants to.

 

He’s only home for a few minutes when he hears the front door open. “Hey, Ma. What time are we s’pposed ta meet this person—“ he stops talking when he rounds the corner, and sees a boy about his age standing behind his Ma.

 

He keeps his eyes trained on the boy, as he doesn’t know him, and he can’t remember the last time a stranger was in his house. He feels vulnerable, and he doesn’t like it. His Ma steps closer to him, and Murphy unconsciously moves between her and the stranger. He watches as the boy follows the movement, and the boy smirks.

 

Keep smirking, he thinks to himself. I’ll wipe it from your face if you make a move toward her.

 

“Who’s he?” he asks aloud.

 

“I’m Connor,” the boy replies sarcastically. “Who’re ye?”

 

Murphy glares at him. “I’m the one tha’ lives ‘ere, an’ I wasn’ talkin’ to ya. Ma, who is ‘e?”

 

His Ma clears her throat, and sits down on the couch, which is to Murphy’s right and the boy’s—Connor’s—left. “Sit down, boys. I need ta explain somethin’ to the both o’ ya,” she says.

 

Murphy frowns, but doesn’t take his eyes off of the boy. Connor’s eyes are blue, and sharp, as they roam Murphy’s body, and he can’t help but shiver at the lingering gaze. His hair is golden, and he appears at a distance to be Murphy’s height, though maybe a bit stockier, more muscled.

 

Not that that would stop Murphy from kicking his arse.

 

“Boys! Sit!” his Ma yells, and he automatically moves to the chair next to the couch at the authority in her voice. Connor moves more slowly, apparently immune to her powers, and Murphy glares at him all the more fiercely.

 

As Connor takes the chair opposite Murphy, Annabelle clears her throat and gathers her thoughts.

 

“Now, what I’m abou’ ta tell ya will be a right shock, no doubt. But I wan’ ya both ta hear me out b’fore ya run out, alrigh’?” She waits until she receives nods from both boys before continuing.

 

“I knew yer father, Connor. Noah and I were close, once. In fact… we were married,” she says, her eyes fixed on Connor’s face. “It didn’t work out, though, ‘cause o’ his work, and we split. We stayed friends, though, and kept in touch…”

 

Connor’s eyes narrow in suspicion, but Murphy’s are simply full of confusion. Who is she talking about? She’s never mentioned being married before!

 

“I can tell ya already figured it out, so I won’t drag it out any longer. I’m yer Ma. Yer twins, tha two o’ ya,” she said, her eyes darting to Murphy’s face and back to Connor’s.

 

Connor stands abruptly, and Murphy watches dumbfounded as the boy clenches his fists and takes a step closer to his Ma. “Ya fuckin’ bitch!” he yells.

 

And then Murphy stands up, shaken out of his stupor. “What tha fuck did ya just say?” he asks, his voice low and threatening.

 

Connor’s eyes shift to his, and Murphy is struck by how similar the shade of blue is to his own. He blinks.

 

“I called her a fuckin’ bitch, _brother_. She and me Da had me thinkin’ she was dead fer me whole life!” he sobers, gazing at Murphy speculatively. “Well, I guess he’s yer Da, too, now. Did ya know our Da is a criminal?” he asks, taking pleasure in watching the blood drain from Murphy’s face.

 

Annabelle buries her face in her hands and lets out a sob. “I’m sorry, boys! We were selfish, I know tha’ now, but we were young, an’ we couldn’t stand ta be separated from both o’ ya.”

 

The twins ignore her, their eyes focused on each other. “Criminal? Is he a thief, or…?”

 

Connor’s grin widens maliciously. “Oh, no, brother mine.”

 

“Stop callin’ me tha’! I’m no’ yer brother!” Murphy shouts, and he lunges.

 

His fist catches Connor’s jaw, but Connor grabs Murphy around the middle, and they both fall to the floor. Murphy catches a punch to the gut before retaliating with a hit to Connor’s nose. The boy yelps in pain and tries to buck Murphy off of him, and only when he feels her arms around his shoulders does Murphy hear his Ma’s shouts.

 

He gets off of Connor and stalks out of the house, ignoring his Ma’s pleas and the boy on the floor’s glare.

 

 

 


	2. We’re reeling through an endless fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I don't own anything.
> 
> So, not only am I not Irish, I'm also not Catholic. Please don't be mad at any mistakes I made. 
> 
> To those, like me, who nothing about the way the school system is set up in Ireland, this is what I got from the internet, and what's relevant in this story:
> 
> The Junior Certificates, or Junior Certs, are exams given to children at least 12 years of age by the Board of Education. There are some required subjects, and some optional ones, but you have to pass these before you can start your Senior Cycle, which gets you ready for your Leaving Certificates.
> 
> The Leaving Certificates are exams given to students, usually between the ages of 16 and 19, and the preparation for them can take either 2 or 3 years. 
> 
> In this story, it's only important to know this because Connor hasn't taken his Junior Certs, as he was on the run with his father. 
> 
> I hope this isn't too confusing (or completely wrong) and that you enjoy!

Chapter Two—We’re reeling through an endless fall

 

 

Connor hasn’t even picked himself off the floor before the prick that hit him barrels back inside.

 

“I’m not leavin’ ya alone with her, ya bastard,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

 

Connor rolls his eyes. His Da taught him better than to hit a woman. Even if she deserves it.

 

“Murphy! Settle down, now! He’s yer brother, he’s not gonna hurt me,” Annabelle says, and Murphy stops in his tracks, fury radiating from his body.

 

“I’m not speakin’ to ya. You’ve been lyin’ ta me for me whole life, and I’m mad as hell. But tha’ don’ mean I’m gonna let this prick hurt ya, either. Yer still me Ma,” he says.

 

Connor stands and brushes his pants off, making a show of ignoring both of them. There is no way he’s staying here. He starts towards the door, but is stopped by the prick, his _brother_ , before he can reach it.

 

“Move,” he says shortly, his eyes glaring a hole through the other boy.

 

Murphy narrows his blue eyes at him, and looks to his Ma. She shakes her head, and stands.

 

“Please, Connor. I know yer angry, an’ ya have ev’ry righ’, bu’ yer Da… he wants ya here with me, it was always the plan if somethin’ happened to him,” she’s cut off by Connor’s expression when he turns to face her.

 

Murphy thinks that he resembles some kind of avenging angel, with his bright hair and pale skin. He’s not as pale as Murphy, not many people are, even by Irish standards, but his bright blue irises seem to glow as his fury grows.

 

“The plan?” he spits out. “The fuckin’ _plan_? An’ when were ya gonna tell me, eh? When were ya gonna tell me tha’ ya weren’t dead, that I’ve been mournin’ someone that don’t exist fer me whole life? Were ya jus’ gonna keep it a secret ‘til it was convenient?”

 

“No, Connor!” she wails. “O’ course not. We were gonna tell ya together, but—“

 

“No ya weren’t! I wouldn’t know now, ‘cept that Da got himself locked up!” Murphy agrees with this statement, though he won’t admit to it. He won’t admit to anything he might have in common with this arsehole.

 

“If ya keep yellin’ at her, I’ll be forced to hit ya again,” he says to the boy, his voice low.

 

Connor whirls to face him, and moves faster than Murphy expects. He shoves him into the door, and his forearm digs into Murphy’s windpipe.

 

“No!” Annabelle yells, moving towards them. “Connor, let go!”

 

Murphy tries to take in a breath, but is unable to due to the pressure on his neck. His blue eyes meet Connor’s, and he’s stunned at the emotion roiling behind them. Connor blinks, and steps back.

 

Murphy barely keeps himself from collapsing, but manages to stay upright. He gasps for breath, but when he feels his Ma’s hands on his back, he moves away from her.

 

She meets his accusatory gaze, her eyes sad. She visibly gathers herself, and puts on a stern expression. “Boys, I know yer angry. We’ll talk abou’ this more when ya’ve had time to cool down. Now, both o’ ya, just go to yer room, an’ we’ll talk more at dinner.”

 

Murphy’s brain screeches to a halt. “Our room? Did ya just say--?”

 

“Aye, ya silly boy, there’s not but the two of ours in this house, is there? Where’d ya expect him ta sleep, the front yard?”

 

Murphy curses under his breath, fuming. Like hell he was gonna share his room with him.

 

Connor speaks up. “Like hell I’m gonna share a room with him,” and Murphy’s eyes widen. Did they just think the same thing?

 

Oh, fuck, this was weird.

 

“I’m still yer mother, boys, whether ya like it or not, and I had another bed put in there this mornin’ while ya were out ta school, Murph. Now, go!” Annabelle says, steel in her voice.

 

Murphy knows better than to argue when his Ma sounds like that, so, shoulders set in an angry line, he goes up the stairs two at a time. He hears the slow thumping of Connor following him, and rolls his eyes. It’s like the boy has no normal speed. He’s either so slow he might as well be moving backwards, or too fast to see coming.

 

This is gonna be unpleasant, to say the least.

 

Murphy flops down on his bed, which is furthest from the door, and keeps his eyes on the ceiling as Connor enters.

 

Connor wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for his Da. No matter how angry he is at him for lying, he can’t go against his wishes outright. In the end, he knows the man probably has his reasons for having kept all of this secret. He just can’t fathom what they could be.

 

He sits gingerly on the unoccupied bed, and watches the boy, _Murphy_ , whose eyes are fixed on the ceiling.

 

This was gonna be so fucking unpleasant.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Connor sleeps with one eye open, uncomfortable without his Da there. He’s not used to the idea of not being chased by the law, and he can’t make his body relax enough to fully sleep.

 

“Stop fuckin’ shiftin’ around,” he hears Murphy mutter from the other bed. He lifts his head to see the boy, and holds in a laugh at the way his dark hair is sticking straight up. He looks ridiculous.

 

“Fuck ya,” he answers. “My room now, too, I’ll move ‘round as much as I fuckin’ want.”

 

Murphy’s expression darkens, but he just turns to face the wall and tries to go back to sleep.

 

Connor grins into the darkness.

 

 

 

 

The next morning, the boys are taken by surprise again when Annabelle announces that she’s enrolled Connor in the Catholic school in town.

 

The school that Murphy attends.

 

“Hell, no,” Connor says, crossing his arms obstinately. “I’ve been home-schooled me whole life, and I’m fine by meself. I’m not goin’ to no prissy, uptight school.”

 

Murphy bristles at this, but Annabelle just clicks her tongue and shrugs. “I’m afraid ya don’ have a choice, sonny. It’s the law that ya attend school, and I can’t afford a private teacher for ya, not on my wages.”

 

Connor sags, unable to work a way around this. He supposes that if he can handle his Da’s crowd, school children shouldn’t be a problem. “Whatever. I’ll go. _Brother_ , dear, can ya walk me there? Only, I don’t know the way.” He bats his eyes innocently.

 

Murphy feels a warmth in his belly at Connor’s words and his coquettish expression. He tells himself it’s anger, because he’s afraid to delve deeply into what else it could be.

 

He stands from the table, and walks to the front door, stopping to kiss his Ma on the cheek on the way by. Connor grins at having gotten a rise out of Murphy, though the boy tried to hide it. Connor can always tell, though.

 

Da used to tell him he had a gift, and it was up to him whether to use it for good or evil. He used the term ‘evil’ lightly, of course, because Connor could never resemble the men his Da hunted. But he does have a way of getting under people’s skin, of reading their intentions and well-hidden reactions. Intuitive, his dad used to call him.

 

He isn’t as good at hiding his own emotions, though he gets by. It’s only when he’s really upset that they get the best of him. That doesn’t happen often enough to bother him, though.

 

Connor stands and exits the house without a word to Annabelle. He isn’t ready to face her, yet. He doubts he’ll ever be. His Da will probably have to make him when he gets out. He grimaces at the thought.

 

He walks behind Murphy, figuring he’s antagonized him enough for one morning. He’ll have plenty of opportunities later, anyway, he thinks with a smirk. He pulls out a cigarette, and lights it.

 

Murphy keeps his shoulders hunched against the biting November wind, and tries to keep his mind from wandering to the boy behind him. He knows Connor is going to stir up trouble, but he hasn’t decided what he'll do when it happens.

 

He’s supposed to be this guy’s brother, right? But he feels a distinct lack of emotion where he’s sure brotherly love should be. And where there ought to be affection, he feels only annoyance and dislike.

 

He’s nothing like Connor, and their differences are too wide to be reconciled.

 

He turns right onto the street that will take him to St. Patrick’s, and only then does he notice that Connor is smoking behind him. Fucking degenerate, he should at least have the decency to hide it.

 

“Ya can’t smoke on school grounds,” he bites out, turning to talk to Connor over his shoulder. He sees Connor raise an eyebrow before dropping the ciggie to the ground and mashing it with his boot. Murphy sneers and continues his pace, disgusted.

 

When Connor is sure Murphy won’t turn to look at him again, he quickly picks up the stub and pockets it. He says a quick apology and crosses himself. He may be an arsehole, but he’s a Catholic first.

 

Murphy walks up to the main building of the large brick school, and enters without a glance behind him. Connor searches the courtyard for a sign, something to indicate where the front office might be.

 

A boy with curly blonde hair and dark brown eyes approaches him with a smile. Connor doesn’t even try to return it, and keeps his expression blank.

 

“Hiya,” the boys says. His grin fades slightly at the terse nod Connor sends him. “New here? Need some help?” he asks, nerves showing through in his voice.

 

Connor holds back a smirk at having made him anxious. People are so easy, sometimes. “Aye,” he says shortly. “Need the office.”

 

The boy nods, and point to the doors that Murphy went through. “Go through there, and keep goin’ straight ‘til ya reach the end o’ the hallway. Take a righ’ and you’ll be there. Can’t miss it.”

 

Connor mods his appreciation, and walks away without a backward glance. He hears the boy mutter, “prick,” behind him, and stops in his tracks.

 

“What was that?” he asks, turning around. He watches as the boy gulps.

 

“N-nothin’, I didn’t say anythin’,” he stutters.

 

“Thought so,” Connor says, his voice full of honey. This boy will remember him better if he frightens him with sweetness, he’s found through the years. People are more likely to be scared of the unpredictable than the outright threatening.

 

Connor continues on his way, holding in his grin. This might be fun.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Connor’s told by the people in the office that he’ll have to take his Junior Certs, which are usually taken by twelve-year-olds, before he can start studying for his Leaving Certs. He figures it won’t matter either way, as he doubts he’ll be here to finish school before he can rejoin his Da.

 

They ask whether he feels prepared to attempt the Junior Certs now, or if he’d like a year to study for them. He knows he can pass them, no problem, so they schedule him an appointment to take them the following week.

 

The President of the school is decidedly nervous around him, probably because of who his Da is, and Connor is quite amused that he already has some of the faculty scared. Since they don’t know what to do with him until next week, and because he refuses to sit with the little kids in Junior Cert preparation classes, the President decides the answer is to give Connor the same schedule as his brother until he can choose his own classes.

 

Oh joy.

 

Connor is sent to Russian first thing, and is surprised that it is quite an advanced course. The teacher calls on Murphy often, and Connor is mildly disgusted to discover that his twin is a bit of a teacher’s pet. When the teacher calls on Connor to introduce himself to the class, Connor stands up and delivers a speech in fluent Russian.

 

By the time he sits down, everyone’s mouths are agape, including Murphy’s. He figures he’s sufficiently messed with the ‘degenerate’ image his brother has of him.

 

When the class ends, Murphy is annoyed when Connor follows him into his next lesson: History. “What’re ya doin’?” he snaps.

 

Connor raises an eyebrow and smirks. “Didn’ they tell ya, Murph? I’ve been given yer schedule ‘til I can sit me exams. I can just follow you around, ev’rywhere ya go, fer the next week.” He smiles winningly.

 

Murphy’s jaw tightens and his fists clench. There was no way he could get through this without socking the smug bastard. He quickly takes his seat, and busies himself with talking to his neighbors so he doesn’t have to look at the other boy.

 

Connor slowly makes his way around the room, and chooses a seat near the back. No need to sit up front, because he hates pretending he’s paying any mind to the teacher.

 

Connor stretches out his long legs and observes the boys around him. It’s strange, being surrounded by people his own age. He often saw boys on the streets of Dublin, but was never inclined to join them, or wished he could be more like them.

 

He’d see girls sometimes, too, and his Da would nudge his arm and ask him if he saw something he liked. He could never say that he did.

 

Now, Connor takes his position at the back of the room to watch the adolescents of St. Patrick’s College, and to observe the boy who is supposed to be his other half, his twin.

 

He doesn’t see much of a resemblance. Murphy is pale, where Connor has more color to his skin. Not much, but enough to be considered tan, by Irish standards, at least. Murphy is slim and lean, where Connor is stockier. He thinks that perhaps Murphy is scrappier in a fight than he looks, though. The boy’s split lip is evidence enough that he’s not always a teacher’s pet. As is Connor’s sore jaw and nose.

 

Murphy has a sort of grace that Connor lacks. Murphy glides into a room, and lopes out of it. Connor, though. Connor barges into whatever situation he finds himself in. The only time he can call himself graceful is when he has a gun in his hand.

 

With a pistol, or his fists, in fact, he’s practically unstoppable.

 

Connor is called to attention when the teacher announces his presence in the room, and asks him to stand up. Connor shakes his head, and politely declines.

 

The room titters in amusement, and Connor sees Murphy out of the corner of his eye, sneering.

 

The teacher’s mouth opens in shock at Connor’s outright refusal to cooperate, and he marches towards him. On the streets, standing over someone like he is would be considered a threat. Connor stands, and realizes that he’s a good few inches taller than the professor.

 

“Ya will participate, MacManus, whether yer inclined to or not. If ya insist on bein’ difficult, however, ya can go righ’ ta tha office,” he says bitingly.

 

Connor remains silent. He doesn’t necessarily want to cause trouble on his first day, but he doesn’t mind it, either. He just hates being paraded around and forced to tell everyone about himself.

 

It’s not as if the children in this room would believe half of the things he said if he were to tell them his life story. He doubts even Murphy would think him honest.

 

Just as he thinks his name, Murphy speaks up. “Christ, man, just do it. ‘s not a big deal.”

 

The teacher turns his glare on Murphy, who inwardly curses himself. The teacher already doesn’t like him, and here he is trying to help his ungrateful brat of a… well, whatever he is.

 

“MacManus—Murphy, that is--- would ya care to explain why yer brother doesn’ seem to understand the rules of this institution?” the professor asks.

 

The murmurs around the room grow into hushed conversations at this new information. Shit, Murphy thinks.

 

“He’s no’ my brother,” he says stubbornly. He almost laughs, despite the seriousness of the situation, when he sees both the teacher and Connor, who can’t see each other’s faces, simultaneously raise an eyebrow.

 

“Oh, no?” the teacher presses, unrelenting. “Are ya callin’ yer Ma a liar, then? ‘Cause she came up here yesterday, an’ told us that she had another child, yer _twin_ , and that he’d be joinin’ ya. Is this no’ him?” he asks, with mock innocence in his voice.

 

Connor sees Murphy’s hands clench under his desk, and decides to head off any tantrums. This conversation is boring, anyway.

 

“Me name is Connor MacManus. Me Da is a criminal, accordin’ to tha police, and I’ve lived on the lam me whole life. I found ou’ yesterday tha’ I have a mother, an’ a twin, and today is my first day of school, ever,” he says, and sits down as if the argument before never occurred.

 

The teacher turns to him with wide eyes, and clears his throat. “Well, then. Well. Um, class, please put away yer textbooks and get ready fer the exam. You’ll have the class period ta finish, an’ then you’ll need ta hand ‘em in, no exceptions.”

 

He reaches his desk and picks up a stack of papers. He meets Connor’s eye. “You’ll take it, too, MacManus. Connor. I don’ need ya distractin’ tha other boys.”

 

Connor doesn’t speak or acknowledge this proclamation, just watches the teacher as he rounds the room. His eyes fall on Murphy, who he catches watching him from under his fringe. His dark hair may be concealing his eyes, but Connor can feel his gaze on him. He smirks.

 

The room is silent during the exam, and Connor is confused at how easy it is. Is this a practice test? These were topics he covered years ago.

 

He finishes first, to his surprise, and turns the paper over, his eyes scanning the room. The teacher stands abruptly and strides over to him. He snatches up Connor’s test, shoots him a glare, and proceeds to read the test whilst standing over him.

 

Connor shifts uncomfortably at having the man hovering over him.

 

The teacher’s eyebrows slowly climb his forehead, and Connor becomes amused at his ridiculous expression. His eyes are practically bugging out of his head.

 

“How did ya manage this?” he hisses at Connor, who shrugs.

 

Fuming, the teacher returns to his desk. The class ends twenty minutes later, and Connor stands and stretches before following Murphy once again.

 

“It’s break time, so ya don’t hafta follow me,” Murphy mutters, but Connor just grins and tails him.

 

Murphy attempts to walk faster, but is stopped short by the curly haired boy that gave Connor directions to the office earlier. Connor shoots him a grin, and the boy trembles in response.

 

“Wha’ can I do fer ya, Ryan?” Murphy asks. He knows why Ryan is here, of course. To warn him about that bastard Flaherty. He’s already heard the rumors that Flaherty plans to finish their fight after school.

 

“Have ya heard, Murphy?” he asks, breathless. Murphy notices the way his eyes dart away from Connor, but doesn’t think much of it. He’s sure Connor’s found a way to be a prick to everyone he’s met.

 

“Aye,” he answers shortly, and resumes his walk to the courtyard. They only have fifteen minutes for break, and he’s had to have lost a couple of them already.

 

“What’re ya gonna do? Will ya fight ‘im?” Ryan needles, and Murphy shrugs.

 

“Course I will. He deserves it, don’t he?”

 

Ryan nods enthusiastically, and runs away, giving Connor a wide berth as he passes. Murphy figures he’s going to spread the news, to ensure that there’s a crowd waiting for the match.

 

Wonderful.

 

Murphy doesn’t mind his reputation, not really. He’s quick to anger, he knows that. But he’s always justified. These pricks keep pissing him off, so it’s not his fault, really.

 

They’re asking for it, after all.

 

As Murphy steps out into the muted sunlight in the courtyard, he knows Connor is behind him, though he doesn’t turn around. It was the same way earlier, when the boy followed him to class. It was as if his subconscious knew what Connor intended to do before his conscious mind comprehended it.

 

It’s creepy, really. Murphy doesn’t like it.

 

Murphy strides over to his friends to chat while he waits for his next class to start. He feels Connor move to a corner of the courtyard, probably to sneak a cigarette, and part of him wants to warn him, but the malicious part, the more prominent part right now, just stands back and watches.

 

Flaherty and his cronies come out into the courtyard, and head straight to the area they always hang out in: the corner where Connor is hunched over slightly, sneaking puffs of his cigarette.

 

Connor feels a hand on his shoulder, and he tenses. The last person to touch him, besides when Murphy punched him yesterday, was his Da. Who the hell is touching him now?

 

Connor turns and comes face to face with a large boy, with small brown eyes, and a buzz cut. He has perhaps five centimeters and two stone on Connor, who is much more wiry than this boy. He flexes his muscles as Connor, showing off his bulk threateningly.

 

Unimpressed, Connor tilts his head back slightly to meet the guy’s eyes. “What’re ya doin’ in me spot?” the boy spits out.

 

“Yeah, Flaherty, tell ‘im! Kick ‘is arse!” another idiot boy yells from the crowd behind him. Conner rolls his eyes.

 

“Don’t see yer name on it, friend. An’ last I heard, I’m free ta stand where I please,” Connor answers.

  
Flaherty’s hand shoots out faster than Connor expects, and he gets a punch in the jaw— _again_ —before he knows it. He recovers quickly, though, and retaliates with a hit to Flaherty’s stomach. He bends over and wheezes, before tackling Connor to the ground.

 

The fight escalates quickly from there, with both boys kicking and punching, and if Connor isn’t mistaken, biting on Flaherty’s part. Now he’ll have to get a fucking tetanus shot.

 

He can hear the crowd taunting them, egging the fight on. Connor catches a hard punch to his already sore nose, and feels the blood as it gushes out.

 

The doors to the courtyard open, and teachers swarm out, breaking up the crowd and, at last, the fight. A rather large teacher, probably a rugby coach or something, Connor figures, grabs Flaherty round the middle and hauls him off of Connor, who is trying to staunch the blood coming out of his nose.

 

Another teacher comes up and tries to help him stand, but he shrugs him off. He stands on his own and starts for the courtyard doors.

 

“What’s wrong, pussy? Are ya gonna cry?” one of the boys in the crowd whispers at him as he passes. He can’t do anything about it with all these teachers around, though. His Da would be so pissed if he found out he got kicked out of his first school on his very first day.

 

“Thought ya could fight better than that, _brother mine_ ,” he hears from his right, and he turns to see Murphy, who has a smugly satisfied look on his face. “Figured ya fer the rougher sort.”

 

Connor grins lasciviously. “Jus’ wait ‘til we get home, Murph. I’ll show ya how rough I like it.” Murphy’s face falls, and Connor turns away from him.

 

He walks into the school, unaided and head held high.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and I love reviews!


	3. Things start splitting at the seams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is much, much more graphic than the first two, so please be warned. Anyone who isn't sure if they like Conphy, you'll probably know after this one!
> 
> *I own nothing

Chapter Three-- Things start splitting at the seams

 

 

Connor and Murphy walk home after school, not together, but not far apart either. Murphy is in front, hands in his pockets, head down, trying to ignore the boy behind him.

 

Connor is keeping his eyes on Murphy, watching the boy’s easy grace. He’s smoking a cigarette, and relishing the first good fag he’s had today. Finally, no one’s nagging him about it.

 

Connor’s nose hurts, but isn’t broken, according to the school nurse. Still, it fucking stings in the cold weather.

 

Murphy walks in the front door of his house, and closes the door behind him, paying no mind to Connor. He doesn’t bother calling out for Ma, because he knows she’s working. He heads for the kitchen to make a snack.

 

As he’s assembling the makings of a sandwich, Connor slowly enters the room, his appraising gaze sweeping Murphy’s form. Murphy tries not to blush and keeps his eyes on the plate in front of him.

 

“I’ll have one, too, thanks fer askin’ brother,” Connor says jovially, and Murphy’s fingernails dig into his palm.

 

He ignores him, and carefully cuts up some slices of onion.

 

“Come on, now, Murphy, what’s with the stick up yer arse?” Connor asks, and Murphy’s face turns red from holding his breath. If he doesn’t breathe, maybe he’ll pass out and won’t have to look at the prick’s annoying face anymore.

 

“Are ya thinkin’ about my promise, then? Gettin’ ya riled up?”

 

Murphy lets out his breath in a gust, and finally meets Connor’s gaze. “No, ya haven’t got me riled up, ya fuckin’ asrehole. I’m trying ta ignore ya so I don’t hafta explain ta Ma why yer knocked unconscious when she gets home.”

 

Connor’s grin widens. “Oh, is tha’ right? Well, then, I guess I’ll just hafta try harder ta rile ya up,” he says, his voice laced with honey.

 

Murphy shivers, but quickly drops his gaze back to the onion, and focuses on it again.

 

There’s blessed silence in the room for a whole minute, Murphy reckons, before Connor has to break it again.

 

“Yer doin’ that wrong.”

 

Murphy slams the knife down onto the plate, where he’s moved on to cutting up some tomato. “Wha’?” he bites out.

 

“I said yer doin’ that wrong,” Connor repeats, and stands to move around the counter to Murphy’s position. Murphy starts to move away, but Connor grabs his hip and holds him still. He places his other hand on the counter, boxing Murphy in.

 

Connor presses himself against Murphy’s back, and he slowly slides his hand up Murphy’s hipbone, then up to his waist, before letting go and grasping the knife. The hand braced on the counter lifts to grab the tomato and hold it firmly in place.

 

“There, now, ya see?” Connor murmurs directly into Murphy’s ear, and the dark haired boy shivers at the feeling of Connor’s warm breath on his neck. Connor slowly cuts the tomato in thick slices, and when he’s done, he moves both of his hands to Murphy’s waist and rests them there, squeezing gently.

 

Murphy tries to breathe normally, but he’s finding it rather difficult given the other boy’s proximity. He doesn’t know why he’s reacting like this. He figures it must be the revulsion he feels towards Connor. It practically immobilizes him.

 

Connor touches Murphy’s ear with his lips, not kissing or nibbling like his mind is telling him to, just holding still. He breathes in subtly, taking in Murphy’s scent, and closes his eyes at the slight musk and wind he smells on him.

 

“What’s wrong?” he murmurs. “This no’ rough enough fer ya?”

 

Murphy clenches his hands where they rest at his sides, and can think of nothing to say in response. “What’re ya doin’?” he asks quietly.

 

Connor is silent for a moment, then, “I’m showin’ ya the proper way ta slice a tomato.”

 

Murphy rolls his eyes, and turns in Connor’s embrace. Their faces are close enough that their lips almost brush, and Murphy smiles at Connor, taking him off guard.

 

Connor eyes him blankly, unwilling to show emotion. He’s going to win this little battle.

 

Murphy leans slightly forward, and runs his nose along Connor’s jawbone, and this time it’s Connor’s turn to shiver. Murphy smiles at his success, and pulls back to see Connor’s face.

 

“I’m not too fond o’ yer tomatoes, brother mine. I prefer them with fewer rough edges, and a little more class, if ya know what I mean.” He grins widely, and Connor takes a step back, face still incredibly blank.

 

“Aye, I read ya. Ya prefer yer tomatoes like ya prefer yer men. Prissy and boring, just like you.” At that, Connor turns on his heel and heads upstairs to their shared room.

 

Murphy stands there a moment longer, annoyed that Connor got the last word in again. One day, he’ll best him. He just knows it.

 

Connor flops down on his bed and rests his head on his bent arms. He already knew he would be an outcast at the school. There was no way he wouldn’t be, with his upbringing. To be considered lower-class in the place he’s supposed to call home, though?

 

He knows he’s annoyed the shit out of Murphy since he met him, and he does it on purpose, because after he realized what the boy looks like when he’s riled, he wasn’t able to help himself. Murphy’s pale, pale skin turns pink in frustration, and his angled jaw tightens. His fists clench angrily, and Connor can practically feel him biting his tongue.

 

For a person so adept at holding his tongue, though, he’s remarkably shitty at hiding his emotions.

 

Connor doesn’t mind that he makes Murphy angry. In fact, he enjoys it. He hasn’t given Murphy any reason to like him, and he doesn’t like Murphy much, himself. So why does it feel wrong, to be despised by this boy he doesn’t know? Regardless of their blood kinship, they have no love for each other. He doubts there’ll ever be anything but dislike between them, and he doesn’t feel the loss of a brother, because he doesn’t know what it’s like to have one.

 

On the other hand, Connor does feel drawn to him, but he doesn’t think it’s in a brotherly sense. Instead, he finds himself wondering if Murphy’s the same pale color all over, and if his blush spreads lower than his neck when he’s upset.

 

He wonders if the body hidden under those clothes is all soft skin, like a girl’s, or hard, lean muscles.

 

No, he decides. These aren’t brotherly thoughts at all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Murphy finds out quickly that ignoring Connor is worse than giving him attention. If you talk to him, he’s a right bastard. But if you don’t acknowledge him, he’ll needle and harass you until you want to scream.

 

Sharing a room with him has been a fucking blast.

 

On Connor’s second day of school, he comes in late, as he’d been sneaking a cigarette before class, and takes the seat next to one of Flaherty’s cronies. Murphy, who is sitting a few rows back, figures that he isn’t aware of whom the boy is at first. He watches as the boy leans over and whispers something into Connor’s ear.

 

Connor stands abruptly, and lunges across his desk at the boy. Murphy stands, unsure what to do. He isn’t inclined to help Connor, not that he seems to need any, and he definitely isn’t going to help Flaherty’s henchman.

 

The fight escalates into a full fistfight after Connor and the other boy gain their footing. The teacher attempts to break it up, but is unsuccessful. Murphy decides he doesn’t have a choice, and tries to get between them.

 

Unfortunately, both boys seem to think he’s intending to fight on the side of the other boy. They both attack him, and he goes down hard. He blacks out, and comes to a few minutes later to a worried teacher and amused classmates.

 

He expects Connor to be contrite, but instead all he gets from him is muffled laughter.

 

Now, Murphy wants to knock his teeth out.

 

After Murphy wakes from being knocked unconscious, all three boys are escorted to the front office, and their parents are called. Murphy can’t help but pace. He knows how his Ma gets when he’s in trouble for fighting. No matter that it isn’t his fault this time.

 

Connor is sitting slouched in a chair, unconcerned. He grew up with a fucking hitman, a short woman isn’t gonna scare him.

 

He realizes quickly, after being forced to leave school grounds and go to Annabelle’s house for the remainder of the day, why Murphy looks so nervous.

 

“What the bloody hell is yer problem, eh?” Annabelle yells, her face close to Murphy’s. Connor is surprised when the boy doesn’t even try to defend himself. After all, he did nothing wrong.

 

“I’m sorry, Ma. It won’t happen again, I swear,” he mutters, his face turned to the ground.

 

Connor rolls his eyes. Pussy.

 

“And you!” Annabelle rounds on him, and Connor’s eyes widen reflexively. “What’re ya thinkin’? Gettin’ inta fights when ya only just started! Do ya know how much it cost to put ya in that school? No? Well, I’ll put it this way: you get kicked out, you’ll be sweepin’ floors at the pub for a year b’fore I can afford ta send ya to another one!”

 

Connor ducks his head, almost ashamed. He can’t quite bring himself to feel true remorse for his actions, however. After all, he doesn’t owe this woman anything. And if he gets kicked out, who the fuck cares? He’ll be with his Da again before too long.

 

“I can see what yer thinkin, boyo,” Annabelle says, and Connor lifts his head to meet her gaze, face blank. “Yer thinkin’ it don’t matter what happens, ‘cause you’ll be with yer Da again soon. Am I righ’?”

 

Connor remains silent and motionless, letting her draw her own conclusions.

 

“I’ve got news fer ya, sonny. Yer Da isn’t gettin’ out. Not this time. Noah’s landed himself in a bad spot, and you’d do best to move on. I know tha’s wha’ he’d want fer ya,” she continues, and at this point Connor has heard enough.

 

“Shut up!” he yells, getting into her face. Murphy stands automatically, and moves to get between them, but Connor shifts his stance and shoves him away, hard. “Ya don’ know anythin’ about what Da woulda wanted, so shut yer trap, woman.”

 

“Oi!” Murphy yells, trying to step between them again. Annabelle has a hand over her mouth, in shock over Connor’s outburst. “Watch yer mouth!”

 

Connor sneers at him. “Come on, ya fuckin’ mama’s boy, teach me some respect.” He gestures to his jaw, inviting Murphy to hit him.

 

Murphy’s hands clench, and he wants so badly to hit the arsehole, but he stops himself. He doesn’t want to have another fight in front of his Ma. He scoffs in Connor’s face. “Yer fuckin’ pathetic,” he says, and grasps his Ma’s arm to lead her into the kitchen.

 

He hears the front door slam, and focuses on getting his Ma a glass of whiskey. It’s gonna be a long night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Murphy is awakened when it’s still dark outside, and quickly finds out why when he feels a heavy body land on top of his.

 

“Wha’ the fuck?” he mutters, and shoves Connor off of him. The boy falls off the bed, and lets out a giggle from where he lies on the floor.

 

“Yer sloshed!” Murphy says, and Connor giggles again. Rolling his eyes, Murphy turns his back on the drunk bastard and tries to go back to sleep. He’s jolted awake again, however, when Connor takes the opportunity to lie down next to him, snuggling up to his back.

 

“What the hell?” he says indignantly. Connor rubs against him like a cat, and Murphy tries not to notice how good Connor’s warm body feels molded against his own, just like earlier in the kitchen. Somehow it feels even more forbidden in here, on his own bed, with his Ma down the hall.

 

Against his wishes, his prick starts to harden and lengthen, and he wills himself to focus on puppies, or old people.

  
Unfortunately, these attempts are shot to hell when Connor reaches his hand down and runs it along his cock, pressing firmly. Murphy’s hips jolt, and he bites his lip to hold in a moan. Connor nibbles on the edge of Murphy’s ear gently, and rubs along his length a second time. “Ya like that, sweetheart?” he whispers, his voice like liquid sex.

 

Murphy’s eyes shoot open, and he wriggles his way out of Connor’s grip and off the bed. What the fuck is he doing?

 

What the fuck is Connor doing?

 

His hand shaking, Murphy points to Connor’s side of the room. “Get outta my bed,” he says firmly.

 

Connor’s head drops to Murphy’s bed and he pouts. “Bu’ I’m comfortable here, Murph.”

 

“Don’t call me that!” Murphy yells, then quickly calms himself. He mustn’t wake Ma.

 

“Don’ call ya what?” Connor questions, but Murphy shakes his head.

 

“Nevermind. Get to yer own bed, now. We’ll just forget abou’ what happened, alright?”

 

Connor smirks. “And wha’ happened that we need ta forget?”

 

Murphy groans in frustration, and Connor’s smirk widens.

 

“No, I don’ think we go’ that far yet. But if ya give me a little time—“ Connor is cut off as Murphy lunges forward and grasps his shirt. He pulls hard, dislodging Connor from the bed.

 

Connor hits the floor with a thud, and he laughs moronically. Murphy rolls his eyes, and climbs back into bed. He wills his cock to calm down, but it’s not listening.

 

“Oi, brother! Whatcha do tha’ for?” Connor says, his voice muffled because his face is still on the floor. Murphy grits his teeth at the word— _brother_. “I was just finishin’ what ya started earlier, Murph,” Connor purrs, lifting his head. “Wanted to show ya another side o’ me. Ya know: _higher class_.”

 

And Murphy’s finally reached his breaking point. There’s only so much taunting, and teasing and harassment that a person can take before he snaps. And Connor has brought him there.

 

He jumps out of bed, and lands on Connor’s back, hard. He hears Connor let out a grunt, but that’s not enough for him. He punches the boy’s sides, and back, thighs, arms, head, anywhere he can reach.

 

Connor is yelling now, and Murphy is past caring if his Ma wakes. Connor thrashes beneath him, trying to buck him off, and manages to turn over so he can hit back. He grabs Murphy’s hair and pulls, so Murphy’s neck is bent at an unnatural angle behind him. Murphy grimaces in pain.

 

“What th’ fuck is yer problem?” Connor groans, holding onto his side as best he can with one hand. Murphy finds pleasure in the fact that he’s hurt him, though he’s not really in a position to enjoy it, because Connor’s hand is still gripping his hair. Murphy’s hand goes up to his head and wraps around Connor’s, trying and failing to pull it loose.

 

Connor smiles painfully, and Murphy sees that he has blood on his teeth. He looks like a maniac. He finds the description fitting.

 

“What’m I doin’? What the fuck’re _you_ doin’?” Murphy spits. “Touchin’ me like tha’, are ya fuckin’ mad, ya pervert?”

 

Connor’s hand loosens in Murphy’s hair, and he uses both hands to shove Murphy off of him. Murphy grunts as he hits the floor, and stays where he is.

 

“Dunno whatcha talkin’ about,” Connor mutters.

 

“Are ya fuckin’ crazy?” Murphy continues. “I know we hate each other an’ all that, but we’re still _blood_ , fer fuck’s sake. Ya got somethin’ wrong with yer brain? Are ya like one o’ those sex-crazed people who can’t control themselves?”

 

Connor sits up quickly, and rolls on top of Murphy before he has a chance to react. He wraps his hands around Murphy’s throat, and squeezes lightly, his grip more threatening than painful.

 

“I _said_ —I dunno what yer talkin’ about. Nothin’ happened,” he says, his voice like silk.

 

Murphy shivers at the feeling of Connor pressed up against him, and he notices that Connor’s cock is pressed against his thigh. He’s only half-hard, but being flush with Murphy is making him more aroused by the second.

 

Without his brain actually processing the action, Murphy arches slightly under Connor, pressing his own half-hard erection into Connor’s hip. He feels the boy’s sharp inhale, and meets his eyes. If he only looks at the irises, it’s almost like looking in the mirror.

 

Connor’s eyes search his face stoically, and Murphy bites his lip to force himself to _think_ , dammit. What the hell is he doing?

 

Murphy grasps Connor’s biceps—and they’re much bigger than they look, and Murphy can’t help but rub them a bit to feel them out—and tries to push him off, but he has no leverage.

 

Connor uses his grip on Murphy’s throat to stroke his neck once, softly, gently, and then he squeezes once more before rolling off, standing up, and crossing to his bed on unsteady feet.

 

Murphy sits up slowly, one hand massaging his throat and the other propping him up. He watches Connor peel off his shirt, and then his pants, kicking off his boots when the slacks reach his ankles. Donned in only a pair of shorts, Connor spreads out on his stomach, moaning lightly as his tired body hits the mattress.

 

Connor observes Murphy as the boy stands slowly, keeping one eye on Connor as he climbs back into bed. Connor smirks into the darkness, glad that Murphy can’t really see him, as the only window in the room, the only source of light, is on Murphy’s side of the room.

 

That makes it easier later that night, when Connor is awoken by a muffled sound, to see exactly what it is that’s disrupting his sleep. It’s Murphy.

 

It’s Murphy, naked and gleaming with a light sheen of sweat, both feet planted on the bed, and his hips lifting into his hand, which is pumping up and down around his shaft. Connor barely holds in a gasp at the sight. He turns his body slightly, just enough to be able to reach a hand into his shorts, and squeezes his own erection harshly.

 

This is too damn much, there’s no way he can go slowly.

 

Murphy lets out another strangled moan, and shoves his free hand in his mouth, and the hand around his prick picks up speed. He pulls the fist out of his mouth, but then reinserts two fingers, and he sucks hard on them. Connor can just make out his tongue swirling around them, and he muffles a groan into his pillow.

 

What the hell is Murphy doing? Doesn’t he know that Connor could wake up and see him?

 

A secret part of Connor’s mind knows that Murphy wants him to see this. He doesn’t know how he knows this: he just does.

 

Connor pulls harder on his prick as Murphy slowly trails his wet fingers down his chest, stopping to tease his nipples, and then his stomach. By the time he reaches his hipbone, Connor is finding it difficult to stay on the bed. He wants to go over there and see if Murphy’s sweat tastes as good as it looks.

 

He wants to find out what his cock would feel like in Connor’s mouth.

 

Connor shoves a fist in his own mouth, mimicking Murphy from earlier, as the other boy trails his fingers past his straining erection and still pumping hand, and out of Connor’s sight. Christ, he can only hope they’re going where wants them to.

 

And yes, Murphy lets out a not-so-muffled groan as he pushes a finger into his hole. He spreads his bent legs wider, and Connor can see it now, can see Murphy’s hole stretched around his finger. He watches, and pulls his hand out of his mouth so he can slide a finger into the slit of his cock, as Murphy pumps his finger in and out, then inserts another one.

 

Both boys bite their lips to keep in the groans that want to escape. Murphy’s hips lift into his hand, then press back down onto his fingers, and his moans are getting louder as his thrusts get harder.

 

“Co-Con…” Murphy stutters, and Connor’s hand stops on his prick. What the fuck? Is Murphy thinking of him while he’s wanking?

 

Murphy is. He’s imagining, to his own shame, that it’s Connor’s fingers in his hole, thrusting hard into his prostate. In his mind, it’s Connor’s hand pumping his cock, fingering his slit, and he can almost hear the boy whispering naughty things in his ear, like he had earlier, _Ya like that, sweetheart?_

 

And just like that, Murphy comes, Connor’s name on his lips, and Connor follows him over the edge, shocked at the wanton display he just witnessed.

 

Fuck me, Connor thinks.

 

This boy is going to be the death of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I LOVE reviews!!


	4. It's tumbling down, hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!

Chapter Four-- It’s tumbling down, hard

 

 

The next day at school, Connor can’t get a rise out of Murphy. The boy keeps his eyes averted, and pretends that Connor isn’t there.

 

It drives Connor fucking crazy.

 

All he can think about now is having those scorching blue eyes on him, wanting to hurt him, or touch him, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think about how wrong it is, because it doesn’t feel wrong. Connor never confesses what happened the previous night, because he doesn’t think it should be shared with anyone.

 

Murphy is unaware that Connor saw him last night. Murphy knows it was stupid, what he did, but he’d reached his breaking point and he had to get his frustrations out some way. He knows there’s a chance that the other boy witnessed what he did-- he wasn’t being all too quiet, after all—but he didn’t hear anything from the other bed, and Connor hasn’t mentioned it.

 

He doesn’t think Connor would be able to hold in the gloating if he’d seen it, in all honesty.

 

Murphy can’t bring himself to look at Connor, aware that what he did—thinking of him while he wanked—was disgusting, and such a bad sin he doesn’t know if there is a way to describe it. Lust, for sure. But is it also a form of incest?

 

Murphy shudders at the thought. He doesn’t think of Connor as his blood, so it doesn’t feel like incest, but he figures that if the church—or God forbid, Ma—were to find out, that wouldn’t be much of a comfort to them.

 

Murphy can still feel Connor wherever the boy goes—like a point in his mind that he can’t quite figure out, but it knows where his constant source of annoyance is—but stares resolutely ahead of him whenever he’s traveling the halls or sitting in a classroom. Connor has a habit of staying right behind him, as if he’s used to being a wingman for someone—and come to think of it, was Connor their Da’s wingman, whenever he committed whatever crimes he’s known for?—so as long as he keeps his eyes facing forward, he can almost pretend he isn’t there.

 

Connor, in an attempt to get out his frustrations at being ignored, attempts to piss off as many people as he can. So far, he’s gotten around a dozen wanting to beat his face in. And it isn’t even lunchtime yet.

 

He still has it.

 

As their third class, Irish, ends, Connor stands and stretches as he watches Murphy leave the room, still speaking Gaelic, as if switching back and forth between their Mother Language and English is so second nature that he hasn’t even noticed it.

 

Connor realizes quickly that he’s being watched, and he ignores the eyes on the back of his head as he exits the room. He wonders if whoever is watching him will have the balls to attack.

 

Apparently, they do, because before Connor can reach the cafeteria, he’s shoved forward hard, and his head collides with the brick wall. He feels blood drip down his face where it was cut by the hard surface, and presses a hand reflexively to the wound.

 

Unfortunately, having a hand on his forehead prevents him from properly blocking the next attack: a punch to his stomach. He keels over onto his side on the floor, trying to take in a breath, but unable to. He sees red when he hears his attackers—there are at least two, the fucking cowards—laughing at him, and he strikes out blindly with his feet.

 

He grins, blood dripping into his mouth, when he hears a grunt of pain in response, and the dull thud of a body hitting the ground. Unfortunately, another boy comes up and kicks Connor hard in the stomach. He sputters, and blood splatters on the ground in front of him.

 

“That’s what low life murderers can expect, when they try to mix wit’ decent folks,” the boy says, and Connor giggles, a bit madly.

 

“Show me a decent person, ya shithead, cause I don’ see one,” he says, and receives another kick to the stomach.

 

“Yer gonna end up just like yer worthless Da, as someone’s bitch in prison,” another boy spits at him, and that wipes the grin from Connor’s face.

 

“Come an’ say tha’ ta me face, fucker,” he says, and when the boy sneers and approaches him, Connor sees his attack coming from a mile away. He was trained for this shit.

 

The boy lifts his leg straight up, intending to bring it down on Connor’s ribs, but Connor reaches for him first. He wraps his hands around the boy’s foot and ankle, and twists. He hears the pop as the ankle snaps, and the boy howls in agony and falls over. The one who kicked him earlier rushes to his aid, and Connor takes the brief reprieve to scan the hallways. It’s deserted, other than the three boys and himself.

 

The one whose leg he kicked is still clutching it in pain, the pussy. And of course, there’s still howling coming from the wuss with the broken ankle. The third boy is kneeling by the second, keeping his eyes on Connor, obviously afraid to approach him again.

 

The noise finally attracts some attention, and the cafeteria doors open. Connor was still about a hundred metres away when he was jumped, so he’s not surprised that the loud lunchroom kept most everyone from hearing the fight.

 

Of course, it’s fucking Murphy who’s leading the way over to him, his blue eyes sweeping the area, taking in everyone’s obvious injuries and trying to figure out what happened. A teacher shoves past him and kneels by the crying boy, who points at Connor accusingly. “It was him, sir. He jumped us, we weren’t doin’ nothin’, an’ he broke me leg!”

 

Connor rolls his eyes, and turns onto his stomach to push himself to his feet, holding in a grimace at the pain in his torso. His face doesn’t feel great, either.

 

To his surprise, before he can say anything in his defence, he hears another voice, laced with sarcasm,” Oh, yeah, I’m sure he did, what with the even numbers an’ all,” Murphy says. “What was it, three ta one? Of course he started tha fight. Why don’ ya tell the fuckin’ truth, ya pussy?”

 

Connor’s eyes widen, but the teacher speaks up before he can think of what to say. “That’s enough MacManus. I don’ need yer help ta sort this out.” His gaze scans the hallway. “Allen, Blake, help me get Brennan here to the office. He needs a hospital. MacManus—the other MacManus--- ya need to come wit’ me and the others.”

 

Connor nods and waits for the procession to go ahead before following them. The uninjured boy—Allen—and the one with the hurt leg—Blake—are dragging the third boy between them. The teacher holds back, and attempts to have a look at Connor, but he steps away before he can do it. “I can manage,” he bites out, and starts walking.

 

He can feel the crowd behind him, but he ignores it. Harder to ignore, though, are the piercing blue eyes he feels in his back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The President of the school gets the truth out of the boys, and Connor is let off the hook. They offer to let Connor go to hospital, and he refuses. They harass him until he agrees to let the school nurse have a look at his injuries.

 

She patches up his forehead and wraps his ribs, and then tells him what he already knows: he’s banged up, but nothing’s broken. He’ll live.

 

Connor refuses to go home early, like a fucking loser, because he can’t stand the thought of those arseholes knowing they hurt him enough to send him home. He’s determined to make it through the school day.

 

He’s walking towards his fourth class, Biology, when a hand shoots out from around a corner, and drags him out of the hallway. He starts to struggle, until his gaze travels up the pale hand to the oversized jumper and matching pale neck. He meets blue eyes that match his own, and raises an eyebrow.

 

“What d’ya want?” he asks blithely.

 

Murphy rolls his eyes, and turns his head, apparently looking for a quiet place to talk. There aren’t many people milling about, but more than he’s comfortable with hearing this conversation.

 

“Come on,” he mutters, and pulls Connor by his wrist towards the boy’s bathroom. He opens the door and, Connor trailing him, walks inside. He checks all the stalls, and they come up empty. Murphy locks the door, which is against school policy, but he doesn’t give a damn.

 

“What te fuck is yer problem, eh?” Murphy says, and Connor cocks his head curiously. Murphy thinks he looks a bit like a dog when he does that.

 

“What d’ya mean?” Connor asks innocently.

 

Murphy huffs impatiently. “I mean, why d’ya insist on pissin’ off every person in this school? In case ya didn’t notice, ya just got yer arse beat ‘cause o’ yer stupid, fuckin’ mouth!”

 

Connor’s face darkens, and Murphy clenches his hands into fists, preparing for a fight. “No, I didn’t notice,” Connor says, his voice low and dangerous. “I did, however, notice that I took on three guys, and ended the fight be’er off than they did.”

 

Murphy shakes his head, exasperated. “Why can’t ya just try ta get along here? Ya don’t hafta stir up trouble wherever ya go, man.” His voice get softer. “Ya can just try, can’t ya?”

 

Connor’s expression becomes blank as he studies Murphy’s face. “What’s it to ya? It doesn’t concern ya.”

 

 “Fuck ya! If ya get kicked out, and Ma has ta work harder ta get ya put somewhere else, it is my business,” Murphy replies, and then he sighs, and turns his back on Connor, running a hand over his face.

 

Connor’s eyes scan the back of Murphy’s body, and he licks his lips subconsciously. “Maybe I’m not happy bein’ a conformist, like you are.”

 

Murphy turns back to him quickly, and shoves him hard before he has a chance to react. Connor’s back hits the door, and his breath leaves him in a gush.

 

He’s fucking tired of being shoved.

 

Connor’s face hardens, and he punches Murphy on the jaw as hard as he can. “Ow! Fuck!” Murphy yells, but Connor doesn’t stop there.

 

He tackles Murphy to the ground, and their combined momentum makes them crash though the doors of the largest stall, the handicapped one, where they land sprawled out on the floor.

 

The fight leaves Connor then, as his body succumbs to exhaustion.

 

“What te fuck, ye arsehole! What’d ya do that fer? I o’ly shoved ya!” Murphy yells, and Connor feels annoyance at his interference, and arousal as his body is pressed into his. Connor picks himself up off the floor, and, using his superior strength, grasps ahold of Murphy’s jumper and hauls him to his feet. He presses Murphy up against the stall, their bodies touching, from where Connor has a leg between both of Murphy’s, to their chests.

 

Murphy gasps at the change of position and the feeling of Connor’s leg pressed to the inside of his thigh. He can’t help but hope that Connor lifts it just a bit.

 

“I’m tired o’ bein’ shoved, Murph,” Connor purrs, and Murphy can’t even bring himself to bristle at Connor’s use of that fucking nickname again. “I’m sick o’ bein’ told what ta do, and who ta be. Besides,” he continues with a smirk. He leans forward, and runs his nose along Murphy’s collarbone, inhaling deeply. His tongue peeks out, and he runs it gently, leisurely, up Murphy’s neck, and Murphy’s head falls back, a groan escaping him.

  
Connor chuckles as Murphy’s hips move unconsciously, searching for friction. Abruptly, he pulls away, and Murphy barely keeps himself from sliding to the floor.

 

“It’s much more fun ta be a rebel.” With that, Connor winks, and leaves a disheveled and painfully aroused Murphy in the bathroom, wondering what the fuck just happened.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review, and let me know what you thought of the last chapter, and what you think of this one!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	5. Anything to make you smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: more smut in this one. Did you expect anything else?
> 
> *I own nothing

Chapter Five-- Anything to make you smile

 

 

Connor is having the best dream.

 

In it, Murphy is grasping the waistband of Connor’s shorts and slowly pulling them down his hips. Connor wriggles on the bed a bit, excited for what’s to come.

 

He looks at Murphy as the boy licks his lips nervously. In his dream, Connor runs his hand through Murphy’s dark, dark hair, easing his nerves. Murphy leans forward and kisses the tip of Connor’s hard cock, and Connor groans, his hand tightening in Murphy’s hair.

 

As Murphy opens his pink mouth and swallows as much of Connor’s prick as he can, Connor fully wakes up, and realizes this isn’t a dream.

 

Murphy is really in his bed, and Connor’s cock is really in the boy’s mouth.

 

Connor gasps, and uses the hand in Murphy’s hair to tug him up, and off. Despite his cock telling him it’s not important, he needs to know what the fuck is going on.

 

“Ow!” Murphy whines. “What te fuck is yer problem?”

 

Connor closes his eyes and breathes slowly, trying to focus. His eyes open and focus on Murphy eyes, and his pale skin, and his pink, slightly abused mouth. His skin is gleaming like frost in the light coming from the window. He licks his lips. “What’re ya doin’?” he asks hoarsely.

 

Murphy rolls his eyes childishly, and shrugs, as if it’s obvious. “I was gonna getcha off, but I can always go back to me own bed and you can do it yerself.” He makes to stand up, but Connor’s hand shoots out and he grabs Murphy’s wrist.

 

“Stay, ya retard. I wasn’t tellin’ ya ta stop, I’m just askin’ why yer… doin’ it.”

 

Murphy almost pouts, but sits back on the bed, positioning himself between Connor’s spread legs again. “Was havin’ a dream, an’… it was abou’ me givin’ a blowjob, and it was fuckin’ good, so I figured… I dunno, that I’d try it out.” He shrugs again, and Connor’s eyes bug out.

 

“Ye had a dream,” he repeats, dumbfounded.

 

Murphy’s eyes drift to the side. “Aye.”

 

Connor raises an eyebrow. He ignores the fact that his prick is wet and still swinging in the air. He hopes they can continue their previous fun after he gets this sorted. “An’ who were ya givin’ the blowjob to? In yer dream.”

 

Murphy shrugs again, his bare shoulders broader than Connor realized before. He wants to taste them.

 

“Me, then?” Connor asks.

 

Murphy shoots him a venomous look. “Maybe.”

 

Connor grins. “Well, I have ta say, ye were doin’ a pretty good job there, brother.”

 

Murphy winces. “Don’ call me tha’.”

 

Connor shrugs. “Alrigh’. Anyway, I was thinkin’… how would ya feel about changin’ it up a bit?”

 

Murphy furrows his brow, trying to figure out what Connor’s talking about. “How d’ya mean?”

 

“Have ya ever heard o’ sixty-nine?”

 

Murphy shakes his head slowly, figuring that Connor isn’t just referring to the number.

 

“It means that ye go down on me, an’ I do you… at te same time.”

 

Murphy cocks his head to the side, picturing what it would look like. “How d’we do tha’?”

 

Connor’s grin widens, and he sits up on the bed, gesturing for Murphy to join him at the head.

 

Murphy moves up and sits beside him. Connor turns on his side to face him, and gestures for Murphy to do the same.

 

Murphy turns on his side, wondering how Connor expects to suck him off from up here.

 

“First tings first,” Connor says, then leans forward and presses his lips to Murphy’s. Connor gasps into the kiss, unaware that Murphy would taste this sweet, this fucking perfect, and Murphy makes a noise somewhere between a moan and a whine, which spurs him on even more. Connor presses Murphy down onto the bed, and intertwines their hands together, pulling Murphy’s up above their heads and pressing them into the bed.

 

Murphy writhes against him, seeking friction, and Connor can feel his bare chest and legs brushing his, though he keeps his body too far up for Murphy to rub against.

 

Murphy groans in frustration and breaks the heated kiss, attempting to get his hands free so he can pull Connor closer, dammit, but the boy won’t budge.

 

Connor shifts his hold so he’s grasping both of Murphy’s hands in one of his, and the boy’s hands are so thin and delicate—though not small, they’re more like artist’s hands—that he manages it.

 

He uses his other hand to push his shorts the rest of the way off. Then he pushes Murphy’s down his thighs. It’s a testament to how fucking worked up Murphy is that he doesn’t struggle or protest.

 

Connor lets his body lower onto Murphy’s and the boy groans so loudly that Connor cuts him off with another kiss. Murphy ruts up into him, and Connor can’t help but do the same, increasing his speed and the friction. It feels so fucking good, and he really doesn't want to stop, but he promised the boy a lesson.

 

“Stop, stop—Murph, stop!” he says, and the boy’s eyes open, pupils dilated so much Connor can barely see the blue.

 

“Wha’?” Murphy whines. But at least his hips have stopped.

 

Connor sighs, trying to get ahold of himself. “We’re gonna lay on our sides, like b’fore, bu’ I’m gonna flip around. Ye see? Tha’ way, I’ll have yer cock in me face, and you’ll have mine in yours.”

 

Murphy grimaces, unsure, but nods. In for a penny, after all.

  
Connor shifts off of him, and Murphy hates the lack of contact. He wants Connor’s naked skin on his, now. He reaches out and runs a hand down Connor’s chest and stomach as the boy sits up. Connor smiles at him, almost gently, and gives his hand a squeeze. He keep ahold of it as he turns and lies back down, this time with his legs above Murphy’s head, and his hard, staining cock in Murphy’s face.

 

Connor rubs Murphy’s hand soothingly one last time, before placing it on his own hip for Murphy to grasp. He does so readily, using his grip to pull Connor’s hips closer to him.

 

Connor observes Murphy’s cock up close for the first time, and feels saliva fill his mouth. Fucking hell, the boy’s gorgeous everywhere. His red cock is longer than Connor’s but not quite as thick, and red from how aroused he is. Murphy is still rutting his hips a bit, searching for friction subconsciously.

 

This is the real reason that Connor wanted to show Murphy how to sixty-nine. Ever since the night Murphy woke him up, wanking to thoughts of him, Connor has been salivating at the thought of having Murphy’s prick in his mouth.

 

Connor grasps Murphy’s jutting hip and pulls himself closer. Murphy’s red prick is right there, so close…

 

And just as he reaches forward and sucks in the tip, Murphy takes Connor’s cock all the way in his mouth again. Connor groans around Murphy’s cock, which causes the boy’s whole body to shudder in pleasure, and moan in turn.

 

Connor runs his tongue up and down Murphy’s shaft, then pulls in as much of his cock as he can, almost gagging, then swallows. Murphy groans harder against his own cock, and he can feel the boy moving faster, licking and sucking faster.

 

Connor moves up and down on Murphy’s prick, and uses his hand to stroke the base, where his mouth can’t reach. He feels Murphy do the same on his cock, and he groans. He uses his other hand to stroke Murphy’s balls lightly, rubbing them in his palm, and then stroke his perineum.

 

Murphy’s hips jerk in his mouth, and Connor pulls off to lick the slit on the end, careful to keep stroking up and down on his cock all the while. Murphy takes his pointers from Connor, mimicking his actions, so Connor soon feels his balls being handled carefully, and he shudders heavily at the feeling. He can feel his orgasm coming closer, and he knows Murphy’s almost there, too.

 

He sucks Murphy down again, and runs his tongue around the shaft before deepthroating him and swallowing. Murphy pulls off to let out a muffled scream, and comes down Connor’s throat.

 

Connor swallows it all down greedily, pleased that he could do this for Murphy, but even more chuffed that Murphy tastes as good as he thought he would.

 

Murphy is slowly coming back to himself, but before he can reach out for Connor’s cock to finish him off, the boy shifts away. Murphy frown, and props himself up on an arm to see him. “Wha’s wrong?” he asks. His face falls. “Was it no good?”

 

His voice is so quiet, so disappointed, that Connor feels his heart stutter a bit in his chest. He doesn’t like to hear Murphy sound like that, apparently. He shakes his head, smiling softly.

 

“Ye did great, Murph, I swear it. I just wanna see ya.”

 

Murphy’s eyes grow wide, and he swallows harshly. He nods, and lies back down. Connor lies beside him, and before he can so much as shift closer to Murphy, the boy has pushed him back into the bed and rested his weight on top of him. He wraps a hand around Connor’s prick and pulls, resting his lips on the side of Connor’s mouth and just breathing there.

 

Connor shivers at being able to feel Murphy everywhere, and he runs his hands through the boy’s hair, down his back, and down to his buttocks. He squeezes lightly, and Murphy gasps and unconsciously tightens his hold on Connor’s prick.

 

Connor’s hips jolt, and he thrusts into Murphy’s hand. Murphy gazes at him, then squeezes again, pulling harder. Connor breathes heavily and presses his lips lightly to Murphy’s.

 

Murphy’s lips are still for a moment, as he tries to think. They’ve already done so much, what’s a little more kissing? He can feel Connor reaching his breaking point, and he quickens the pace of his hand. At last, he moves his lips on Connor’s, deepening the kiss. He touches his tongue to Connor’s lips, seeking entrance, and Connor’s mouth opens inviting him in.

 

Connor tastes divine, and Murphy tries not to think about how wonderful a kisser he is. His lips are pink, and plump, and he’s barely kissing back now, just breathing with his mouth open as Murphy pumps faster, and Murphy’s tongue delves deeper into his mouth, and then…

 

Connor’s head arches back, and Murphy’s mouth dislodges, but he quickly latches onto Connor’s neck and sucks, licks, tastes every bit he can reach as Connor comes all over his stomach and Murphy’s hand. Murphy relaxes his body on Connor for a second, relishing the feeling of their naked bodies pressed together, before rolling off of him.

 

Connor sighs contentedly, closing his eyes. Murphy sits up, and looks down at him, his face contemplative.

 

“Wha’ is it?” Connor asks without opening his eyes. Murphy jumps a bit, startled that Connor knows he’s looking at him. He looks away and studies his hands.

 

“Nothin’,” he mutters. Connor rolls his eyes, and puts his hands behind his head, relaxing in the aftermath. He waits.

 

Murphy is silent for a minute, then begins to talk hesitantly. “Was jus’… wonderin’, I guess. Why ye didn’t… uh… ya know. Why ya needed ta turn around.” He clears his throat awkwardly.

 

Connor smirks. “Well, don’ worry now, Murphy, ye’ll ge’ better wit practice. Have te say, ya can’ expect too much fer yer firs’ time.”

 

Murphy gets off the bed in one fluid motion, and Connor’s eyes open wide as the boy glares down at him. “What te fuck would ye know?” he spits. “Are ye some kinda cockslut, then? Were ye suckin’ dick b’fore ye could speak?”

 

Connor sits up at that, and points a finger at Murphy. “Shut yer fuckin’ mouth, b’fore I shut it fer ye.”

 

Murphy rolls his eyes, unimpressed. He turns to his bed and lies down on it, reclining with his hands behind his head, unconsciously mirroring Connor from a few minutes ago. “Maybe I will ge’ better wit practice. Ye might have somethin’ there.”

 

Connor lowers his hand, and nods smugly, smirking again. “I do, and ye will, jus’ wait and see. I’ll show ye—“

 

Murphy laughs, cutting him off, and Connor frowns. What’s fucking funny?

 

“Tink ye misunderstood, _Con_. ‘m not gonna be practicin’ wit ye. I’ll find someone else. There’s plenty te choose from, wit us goin’ te a boy’s school, after all.” Murphy turns his head to take in Connor’s shock, barely visible from the light coming in the window. He smiles broadly, triumphant, and turns his back on Connor, still naked as the day he was born.

 

Minutes later, Connor realizes that he hasn’t moved, that his eyes are still on Murphy, and are currently stuck on Murphy’s pale arse. He blinks, and stands to go to the bathroom.

 

As he turns on the light, Connor sees himself, washed out and tired. He looks older than his sixteen years, and it doesn’t make him happy. His mind hears Murphy’s words over and over again, on a constant repeat, and Connor grips his hair and tugs furiously.

 

Fuck this. He doesn’t care what the fuck Murphy does, or who he does it with. He can blow half the school for all Connor cares.

 

Connor relieves himself quickly, and goes back to his bed. He glances at Murphy, who is still on his side, facing away, and his thoughts stop on what Murphy called him: _Con_.

 

He shudders at the thought that Murphy thinks of him as a criminal, for that’s what the name implies. Though he may just be paying him back for shortening his own name.

 

Connor lies down, and tries to sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next morning, neither boy acknowledges each other at breakfast. Annabelle is glancing warily from one to the other, unsure of what to say.

 

“So, boys, how d’ya like sharin’ a room? Gettin’ te know one another?” she asks, hoping to start a conversation.

 

Instead, all she gets is silence from Connor, who is still looking at his bowl, and a grunt from Murphy, who is staring off into space. She sighs.

 

“I know this isn’t ideal, boys, bu’ maybe te three of us could.. I dunno, spend some time tagether? I feel like I haven’t had a proper conversation wit ye in ages, Murphy. An’ I’d like te get te know ye, Connor. Maybe tis weekend?” she asks hopefully.

 

Connor lifts his head slowly, and Annabelle has to stifle a gasp at his resemblance to Noah in that moment. Noah movements were always so thought out, so concise, and she can’t help but wonder if Connor has learned it from him or if he’d be doing it no matter who raised him.

  
Connor’s eyes are blank, and he looks everywhere but at Murphy, but he meets Annabelle’s eyes and shrugs. He can let her fuss over him like she does Murphy for one day. He should get to know her a bit, he reckons, before he’s back with his Da.

 

He knows it’s not fair to only be mad at her for this fucked up situation, because it was both her and Da that decided to split the family. But Da’s not here, and he’s been taking his frustrations out on her and Murphy. Of course, Murphy deserves his antagonism, because he’s a right little prick. But, other than rooming him with the little wanker, Annabelle hasn’t been anything but kind to him since he got here.

 

Annabelle smiles hesitantly at him. She remembers how it was to try to drag an emotional response out of Noah, and she doesn’t think she’ll have a chance of getting through to Connor anytime soon. She’ll just take her time. Maybe he’ll come to care for her.

 

She looks to Murphy, hope written all over her haggard face, and he can’t help but give in to her. She’s his Ma, and it’s rare she looks at him like he can do something to make her happy. He nods, and forces a smile.

 

“Alrigh’ then! It’s a plan,” she says happily, and gets up from the table, ruffling Murphy’s hair as she goes by.

 

Connor doesn’t even smirk, and Murphy feels like he’s missing something all of a sudden. But he doesn’t know what it is.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For the first time, Connor and Murphy don’t walk to school at the same time. They never walked together, per se, but now they can’t even see each other. While Murphy was carrying his bowl to the sink, Connor left the house and was long gone before Murphy was out the door.

 

He doesn’t see him in first period, and his stomach churns uncomfortably. He doesn’t know where the prick is, but if he’s skipping school, if he ends up getting kicked out, Murphy’s going to kick his arse.

 

Connor, in fact, is in the office, trying to get them to let him choose his own schedule. They refuse, of course, because he hasn’t taken his Junior Certs, but they do tell him that he can work in the office until Monday, when his exams will be. As it’s Friday, he accepts gratefully.

 

He doesn’t see Murphy until lunchtime, though he doesn’t think the boy sees him. Instead, Murphy’s gaze is focused on the little fucker in front of him, and if Connor isn’t mistaken, it’s one of the shitheads that jumped him the day before. Allen, he thinks his surname is.

 

He watches as Murphy throws his head back and laughs, and Allen follows the line of Murphy’s neck with his eyes, and something in Connor snaps.

 

He grits his teeth and clenches his fists, refusing to allow himself to do something stupid. But then, Allen grabs Murphy’s hand and pulls him out of the cafeteria into the hallway, and Connor stands to follow without thinking.

 

He barely sees them turning the corner, and goes after them. He finds them in a deserted, shaded alcove, and the boy has his hand on Murphy’s shoulder and is leaning in to whisper something in his ear. Murphy’s hand slips around the boy and pulls him closer. Connor watches with narrowed eyes as the boy’s hand lifts to rest on Murphy’s arse, and he sees red.

 

In two quick strides, Connor has the boy by the throat, pinned to the wall across from Murphy. Allen’s eyes are wide and panicked, and Connor grins maliciously at the fear in them. He presses his forearm into his neck, harder, and watches as Allen’s face turns almost purple. There’s a strange ringing in Connor’s ears, and he can’t hear anything, but he does feel hands on his shoulders, then his chest, attempting to pry him off of the little fucker in front of him.

 

He realizes it’s Murphy when he smells him.

 

It’s that same, almost sweet scent that lingered in Connor’s mouth after he sucked him off, and Connor inhales deeply, coming back to himself. The ringing in his ears fades a bit, and he can make out words.

 

“Fuck, Connor, stop, let ‘im go, if a teacher sees you’ll be chucked ou’ fer sure!” he’s saying, and Connor is confused as to why this is his argument for letting the prick go. Shouldn’t he be expressing concern for the boy’s welfare, or something? Instead, he seems worried that Connor will be kicked out for fighting again.

 

Of course, he could just be worried about what his Ma would say if he was expelled. Or, he could know that showing concern for the prick that he’s currently choking is definitely not the fastest way to get Connor to let him go.

 

Either way, Connor is nonplussed. Does Murphy care what happens to him, or does he just know how to manipulate him?

 

Connor drops his arm, and watches dispassionately as Allen drops to the ground, wheezing and clutching his neck. He turns and walks as fast as he can in the opposite direction.

 

Connor sees the bathroom in front of him, the same one Murphy drug him into before, and heads for it. He goes in, and stops at the sink to splash his face with cold water.

 

What the fuck was he doing? Marking his fucking territory?

 

As he raises his head, a glance in the mirror reveals an angry Murphy behind him. He grabs some paper towels and turns to face him, his expression blank as he dries his face.

 

“Well?” Murphy asks impatiently.

 

Connor raises an eyebrow, silent.

 

Murphy huffs, and his hands come up to rest on his hips. Connor’s eyes flash as he remembers the boy’s hand being there earlier.

  
“Wha’ were ye thinkin’, startin’ another fight? Do ye wanna be kicked ou’, is tha’ it?” Murphy asks.

 

Connor just shrugs.

 

Murphy loses his cool. He doesn’t know what the fuck is going on here, but he’d assumed from Connor’s words last night that he wouldn’t really care if Murphy screwed around with other people. Admittedly, he could have chosen better, but Allen was one of the only boys he knew was bent, and he figured, what the hell?

 

Apparently, though, Connor wasn’t as fine with it as Murphy had assumed. He’d admit that he was trying to get under the boy’s skin, but to piss him off this much?

 

Murphy hadn’t expected that.

 

He takes a step closer to Connor, furious. “What te fuck is yer problem?” he yells, gesturing wildly.

 

Connor’s face darkens, and he steps closer, too, his chest almost touching Murphy’s and his face so close that he can smell the boy’s breath. “ _You!_ ” he screams. “You are me fuckin’ problem, wit yer games, and yer flirtin’, and you came inta _my_ bed las’ nigh’, and fuck ye fer all o’ yer fuckin’… yer stupid, fuckin’…” He trails off, but before Murphy can interpret any of his rambling, Connor bridges the space between them and pulls Murphy into a bruising kiss.

 

His lips are soft, despite the force behind it, and he tastes so good Murphy feels his knees go weak. Connor walks him backwards until he’s braced against a stall, and holds Murphy’s face still as he devours his mouth. His tongue comes out, and Murphy opens his mouth, inviting him in. Murphy is holding on for dear life, his hands wrapped in the back of Connor’s shirt as he pulls their bodies flush together.

 

Abruptly, Connor breaks the kiss, and steps back from Murphy, who throws his hands out to catch his balance. Connor turns to the sink and leans over it, his head down. Then he stands upright, and without so much as a glance at Murphy, walks out.

 

That’s the second fucking time that he’s left Murphy in this bathroom wondering what the fuck just happened. Dazedly, Murphy hopes the next time, it’ll be his turn.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

While Murphy’s walking home from school, a friend of Allen’s runs to catch up with him. Murphy hasn’t seen Connor since what happened in the bathroom, and his mind is preoccupied with what the boy could be doing. He doesn’t see Neil until he touches Murphy’s arm to get his attention.

 

“Oi, Murphy! I’ve been callin’ yer name fer ages!” he exclaims with a smile on his face.

 

Murphy blinks, then smiles apologetically. “Sorry ‘bout that, Neil, got me head in te clouds.”

 

Neil’s smile brightens, and he shrugs, the sun gleaming off of his blonde hair. Something about him, his muscled body and his grin, and his hair even, reminds Murphy of Connor, and he finds himself scanning the boy’s body.

 

Apparently he doesn’t do it subtly enough, because the boy blushes a bit before moving closer to Murphy. “Allen told me wha’ happened between ye.”

 

Murphy furrows his brows. What happened between them? “Wha’ d’ya mean?”

 

Neil shakes his head, amused. “Tha’ ye were… abou’ te get te know one another better, bu’ ye were interrupted.”

 

Murphy snorts. He’s not surprised Allen didn’t tell him he’d had his arsed kicked again by Connor. “Aye, I guess ye could say that’s wha’ happened.”

 

Neil bites his lip and brushes his hand against Murphy’s. Startled, Murphy takes a small step away, but keeps walking towards his house.

 

“Sorry!” Neil says, blushing furiously. “I don’ think yer… easy or anythin’, I just… always liked ye, but I didn’t know if ye liked boys or…”

 

Murphy is shocked. Neil likes him? He has to admit that he barely ever thinks of the boy, unless he’s in front of him. Despite his similarities to Connor, he’s missing something visceral, something passionate and intense and all-consuming, that Connor has in droves.

 

Despite this, Murphy ponders letting something happen between them. After all, Connor is obviously trying to play games, to make him beg or something, and he won’t do it. He refuses. And, like Connor said, he needs the practice.

 

Maybe by the time Murphy has Connor begging for him, he can teach him some new things.

 

Murphy smiles at Neil brightly, turning up the charm. He can see Neil’s expression become a bit dazed. “Tha’s awfully flatterin’, Neil. I have te tell ye, though, I’m not lookin’ fer anythin’ serious. Allen and I were jus’ gonna mess ‘round a bit, tha’s all.”

 

Neil nods eagerly. “I understand, Murphy. An’… if ye ever wanted te… mess around wit anyone else, well… I’m not wit anyone right now.”

 

Murphy feels a bit guilty at the boy’s hopeful expression, because he knows if he goes through with this he’ll only be using him. But, he reckons, Neil knows it won’t be anything permanent, so there won’t be any harm done, right?

 

“Wanna come over fer a bit, Neil? Me Ma won’t be home fer a while.”

 

Neil’s face brightens, but then falls a bit. “Wha’ about yer brother?”

 

Murphy’s mind draws a blank for a second before he realizes the boy’s talking about Connor. It’s still hard to think of him that way, especially with… well, everything that’s been happening.

 

“Aye, well… we’ll stay in te bedroom and lock the door. Bit o’ privacy, ye know. How’s tha’ sound?”

 

Neil nods eagerly, and agrees.

 

Murphy leads him into the house, and up the stairs to the bedroom he and Connor share. He locks the door behind them, relieved to find that Connor isn’t home yet.

 

Then he leads Neil to the bed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Connor leaves school late, as he was helping in the office. He could’ve left when classes let out, but doesn’t want to go home until he has his head on straight.

 

He decides, in the time he has to himself, that he’s going to tell Murphy what’s going on. That he doesn’t know how he feels about him really, but he wants to keep doing… what they’re doing. He’s fooled around with people before, even had sex with a few of Da’s friends, but it’s never felt this good, or this right.

 

He thinks he might care about Murphy, and that scares the shit out of him. What scares him more, though, is the thought of losing Murphy to stupid games and insults before they can figure out what they’re doing.

 

Connor walks home at a fast pace, his head down. He’s trying to figure out how to brace the subject, and in the end decides that simpler is better. He’ll just come out and say it, and if Murphy wants to slug him, then so be it. At least he’ll have said his piece.

 

Connor walks inside the house and shrugs off his coat. He hears the bed move upstairs, and figures that Murphy is doing his homework while sprawled out on his mattress, like he’s prone to doing after school.

 

Smiling to himself, and figuring out the best way to tease Murphy for his teacher’s pet tendencies, Connor walks up the stairs slowly. He reaches for the knob and it won’t turn. His brow furrows in confusion, and he gives the door a small push. It opens just a bit, and Connor realizes that whenever Murphy locked it—why did he lock it?—he didn’t close it all the way.

 

Connor pushes the door open the rest of the way, and what he sees makes his heart stutter in his chest.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the angst starts! Thanks so much for reading, and please take a moment to let me know what you think :)


	6. It's looking like a limb torn off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst!
> 
> *I own nothing, except the little shithead Neil :)

Chapter Six—It’s looking like a limb torn off

 

 

Connor gasps as his eyes take in the scene before him. Murphy has a boy’s prick in his mouth, and the boy is moaning, lying back on the bed, his back arched. His hands are in Murphy’s hair, tugging, pulling Murphy’s mouth further onto his cock, and Murphy gags around him, struggling a bit to pull off.

 

Murphy tugs the boy’s hands out of his hair, and Connor takes a step back. Murphy hasn’t noticed him yet, and he should leave, but he can’t make his feet move. His heart is pounding, and it feels like there’s something wrong with it, like it’s been punctured, and a part of Connor breaks. He doesn’t understand why he feels this way, he just knows that he does.

 

“Neil, ye gotta let me set the pace, man,” Murphy says with a croak, his voice hoarse from the boy’s cock being shoved carelessly down his throat. Man, he wishes it were Connor under him, Connor with his finesse, and his tan skin and golden hair, and the fire that burns in his eyes when he looks at Murphy. But he’s doing this so he’ll be good next time, so he’ll be able to bring Connor to the brink and push him over it, so he can watch as Connor loses control.

 

“So-sorry, Murphy, I’m sorry,” Neil gasps, and looks up. He freezes, and Murphy frowns, wondering what’s wrong. He turns where he’s crouched by the bed, and sees Connor there, in the doorway, immobile and staring at them.

 

Murphy’s jaw drops, and he stumbles to his feet gracelessly, which is unusual for him. Connor watches dispassionately, but Murphy can see his eyes burning, and he doesn’t know what it means, but he can’t imagine that it’s anything good.

 

Before Murphy can say anything to him, Connor turns on his heel and walks slowly down the stairs. Murphy goes after him at the same pace, still in shock. How the fuck did Connor get in here. He could swear he locked the door.

 

“Murph?” Neil says from the bed, and Murphy flinches at the shortening of his name. “Don’ call me tha’, Neil, only…” and he cuts himself off before he can finish saying _only Connor can call me that_. Murphy shakes his head, clearing it.

 

“Ye should go, Neil, I gotta…” he trails off as he leaves the room, unconcerned with the boy behind him.

 

He hears, “Are ye fuckin’ kidding me?” behind him, but just keeps going, searching for Connor when he reaches the bottom of the stairs. He sees him in the living room, sitting on the couch, staring blankly at his hands, which are folded on his lap.

 

Murphy approaches him slowly, uncertain what he should say. Did he do something wrong? He knows it felt wrong, having that boy under him instead of Connor, but what’s Connor upset about? Why is he so still?

 

Connor isn’t moving; he’s very carefully keeping his body still and his mind blank. He isn’t thinking about how that boy looked, or how Murphy’s mouth was stretched around his prick, the way that the boy’s hands had been gripping Murphy’s raven hair.

 

He isn’t thinking at all.

 

Murphy steps hesitantly towards Connor’s still form, and moves in front of him. He shifts awkwardly on his feet, unsure if he should speak.

 

At that moment, Neil storms down the stairs, clothes in disarray, and crosses in front of the couch to stop in front of Murphy, and, consequently, Connor. Murphy sees Connor’s eyes narrow dangerously at him, and he has the insane thought that he needs to get Neil out of here, or he might be mopping up his blood later.

 

“Wha’ te hell was that, Murph?” Neil asks, hands on his hips. Before he can answer, Connor stands abruptly and moves closer until Neil is forced to back up or have Connor run into him. Despite their similar builds, Connor might as well be a head taller as Neil’s eyes shift nervously from Connor to Murphy.

 

“Ye need te leave,” Connor says, his voice low and threatening. Neil’s eyes move to Murphy over Connor’s shoulder, pleading. Murphy just shrugs. He’s not going to step between them. He’ll get his arse kicked, judging by how close Connor is to snapping. He doesn’t know what pushed him to the edge, but he knows that Connor’s control is balancing on a wire.

 

“Jus’ leave, Neil,” Murphy says, and the boy sends him a betrayed expression, but Murphy honestly doesn’t give a damn. He wants to know what the fuck is going on.

 

“Fine,” Neil says, attempting nonchalance. He sniffs, and moves sideways so as not to brush past Connor. He leaves, slamming the door behind him, and the tense silence he leaves behind is almost palpable.

 

“Connor?” Murphy whispers. Connor’s shoulders tense, and Murphy’s courage wavers for a second, but then he pushes on. He might not know what’s happening, but he’s not afraid of Connor.

 

“I don’ know wha’s got ye so upset, Connor, but d’ye wanna talk about it?” he asks quietly.

 

Connor whirls to face him, and Murphy sees such anger in his usually expressionless eyes that he takes an involuntary step back.

 

“Fuck ye, _Murph_. I don’ need te talk, I just need to get te fuck outta here, away from you, and this whole fuckin’ town,” Connor answers venomously, shoving past Murphy and striding towards the door.

 

“Oh, tha’s great, jus’ run away, then. Fine, ye coward,” Murphy throws at him, and he immediately regrets his words.

 

Oh, fuck. Now he’s really pissed him off.

 

Connor turns slowly, and his eyes are murderous as he fixes them on Murphy. The other boy swallows nervously, but stands his ground.

 

“Wha’ did ya say te me?” Connor whispers dangerously.   
  
Murphy’s chin lifts defiantly. “I said yer a coward if yer jus’ gonna run. An’ ye are! I don’ even know wha’ yer so mad abou’.”

 

Connor’s head cocks to the side, and he stalks closer to Murphy as he speaks. “Ye wanna know wha’ I’m mad abou’. I see…”

 

He reaches where Murphy has planted his feet on the floor, and slowly walks around him. Murphy shudders when Connor is behind him, because he can’t see what the boy is doing, but he can feel his eyes on his body and his breath on his neck.

 

“Maybe I’m tired of bein’ yer playthin’, _Murph_. I’m sick o’ bein’ manipulated, an’ I’m no’ gonna let it happen again.”

 

Murphy’s jaw drops. “Me manipulatin’ you? Tha’s rich, comin’ from the one who turns makin’ a sandwich inte a come on! I haven’ been playin’ ye Connor, you’ve been playin’ wit’ me!” he says indignantly.

 

Connor snorts, and walks back into Murphy’s view. He plants his feet in front of Murphy and meets his gaze, his expression disbelieving, Murphy’s furious and confused.

 

“I’m done wit’ this… whatever it is yer doin’. No more, y’hear? I’ll not have my head messed wit’ anymore, or have ye comin’ inte me bed, or… wankin’ in te next bed over hopin’ I’ll watch te show!” Connor yells.

 

Murphy steps back slightly, his eyes burning with anger. “Ye came into me bed, first, if I remember, an’ I don’ remember askin’ ye te watch me! I thought ye were asleep!”

 

Connor laughs humorlessly, and turns to walk to the front door. “Don’ talk te me again.”

 

“Fine!” Murphy yells after his retreating back. Connor slams the door on his way out.

 

 

 

 

 

Murphy doesn’t see Connor again until after midnight. He doesn’t know where he went, or if he ate anything for supper. He doesn’t know what the fuck is going on between them, or if Connor is right about what Murphy was doing. Maybe he was trying to play with him.

 

His Ma was frantic all night, calling on the neighbors, who hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Connor. She stayed up as long as she could, sitting on the couch and drinking whiskey, until a bleary-eyed Murphy had to pull the nearly empty bottle out of the snoring woman’s hand. He covered her up with a blanket, then curled up on the recliner so he would hear if Connor came home.

 

Realizing he’s been dozing off,  Murphy stretches and stands to start some coffee. He knows he’ll need it.

 

His Ma wakes when the aroma fills the house, and she walks into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

 

“Anythin’?” she asks.

 

Murphy shakes his head, and her shoulders slump forlornly. He hands her a cup of coffee, and moves around her to head upstairs and change. He’d stayed in his school clothes all night, and he desperately needs a shower.

 

He cleans up quickly and pulls on pajamas before heading back downstairs. His Ma is seated at the table, nursing what he guesses is her third cup, judging by the amount left in the pot. Just as Murphy is pouring his own cup, the front door opens, then closes quietly.

 

Connor walks to the kitchen, face blank, and nods at Annabelle before opening the refrigerator and pulling out the orange juice. He hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast that morning, as his lunch was interrupted by the fight with that prick Allen, and he didn’t stay for dinner. He doesn’t feel like staying in Murphy’s company long enough to make a decent meal, so juice will have to do for now.

 

“Connor!” Annabelle exclaims, rising from her chair and rushing over to him. He lets her fuss over him for a moment before stepping away. Murphy is just standing there, gaping, and Connor has to get the hell out of here.

 

“’m fine. Gonna catch a bit o’ shut-eye,” he murmurs to her, and leaves the kitchen without glancing at Murphy once.

 

Murphy is about to go after him, but his Ma beats him to it. She follows him towards the stairs, screaming, “Connor MacManus! Come back ‘ere an’ explain yerself! Where te bloody hell ‘ave ye been all fuckin’ night?”

 

Connor turns on the stairs, but his face is still remarkably calm. “Jus’ walked. Time go’ away from me, tha’s all. Sorry te have worried ye, tha’ wasn’t me intention. Won’t happen again.”

 

That being said, Connor continues up to the room he and Murphy share and flops down on the bed. He can still hear Annabelle screeching, and he would feel sorry for Murphy for having to hear it, except that he doesn’t.

 

He’s decided, after the fuck up that’s been the last week of his life, that it’s not worth getting worked up over a boy who cares nothing for him. In the end, he’ll end up looking the fool, and he’ll be left all over again, just like when Da was taken.

 

No. He’ll stay here until he gets word from Da, then he’ll get the hell out of here. It’s the closest thing to a plan he has.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Connor awakens early on Saturday, aware that he promised Annabelle that he’d spend time with them. It could prove to be difficult now that he’s avoiding Murphy, but Connor never backs out on a promise, so he makes himself shower and change into his day clothes, and then makes his way downstairs and into the kitchen to start breakfast.

 

He doesn’t know how to cook much. He and his Da never had much of a kitchen, what with crashing at friends’ houses and sneaking in hotels. They mostly subsisted on take-away. But he has learned a few things from Da’s crew, particularly Andrew, the lad who Connor was sleeping with for about a month while they stayed at his flat in Dublin.

 

Connor smiles reminiscently, remembering. Andrew was lower in ranks than his Da, mostly there to sort out particulars, as he was still in his early twenties. Da was gone for most of their stay, which left Connor alone with Andrew for much of the time.

 

Da never worked out what happened. If he had, Connor figures Andrew wouldn’t have made it out alive. He can’t imagine that Da would be happy to find out his boy was bent, but he’d kill anyone who touched him. That’s not even taking into account their age difference, which was a real sticking point for Andrew until Connor convinced him that no fifteen-year-old could handle a gun the way Connor could and still be considered a child.

 

That had convinced him.

 

Connor had learned some of his best moves from Andrew. He learned how to suck cock, and he even ate him out a few times. It wasn’t his favorite thing to do, but the reaction it got was worth it. And, fuck, but Connor loved to have it done to him.

 

Connor is tuning out his surroundings a bit as he focuses on his memories and the skillet in front of him, but he still hears the stairs creak as someone comes down them. The tread isn’t very heavy, and they’re muffled, as if the person is wearing slippers.

 

Connor knows it’s Annabelle before she turns the corner. He still has his back turned toward her when he speaks. 

 

“There’s coffee in the po’, an’ I’m makin’ omelets.”

 

“Christ boy, how’d ye even know I was ‘ere?” she exclaims. Connor smirks, but doesn’t answer.

 

At that moment, Murphy bounds down the stairs, already full of energy at this early hour. Connor can’t help but notice that Murphy hates to sit still. In class, his leg is always bouncing, or he’s chewing on his thumb.

 

He’s like a fucking shark. It’s like he thinks if he stops moving, he’ll die.

 

Murphy glides into the kitchen with his usual grace, and Connor turns back to the stove. He can’t refuse to make Murphy breakfast without causing a scene. So he quickly plates him an omelet before moving on to making his own.

 

“Tanks, Connor,” Murphy says quietly, and Connor stays silent.

 

“Well, Connor, I’d say ye didn’ inherit yer cookin’ skills from Noah. I know fer a fact that he coul’ burn a pot o’ coffee!” she snorts, after biting into her own omelet, and Connor smiles at her. It’s true; he’s been making the coffee for Da since he was old enough to reach a counter. That’s another reason take-away was so popular for them.

 

“Aye,” he says, plating his own food and sitting down, a mug of coffee in his hand.

 

A comfortable kind of quiet descends in the room while the three eat their breakfast. Appreciative hums and the clink of silverware on dishes are the only noise for a few minutes. Connor keeps his eyes on his plate, but he can feel Murphy’s eyes boring a hole into his forehead between bites, and he tries like hell to ignore it.

 

Their plates all scraped clean, Annabelle stands up to place the dishes in the sink, and turns back to her boys. “So, fellas, what’ll it be? Movies, park, thievin’? Gettin’ pissed and roamin’ tha streets?” she asks merrily. Murphy snorts into his coffee and shakes his head at her.

 

“Yer a bad influence, woman. An’ ye wonder why we make so much trouble at school?”

 

Annabelle glares at him before fixing her eyes on her quieter son. “Connor? Wha’ d’ye wanna do today?”

 

Connor shrugs. “I’ve never been te tha cinema.”

 

Murphy and Annabelle’s eyes bug out at him, and he can’t help but blush just a bit under their scrutiny.

 

“Never, boyo? Well, that’ll have te be remedied right away!” Annabelle says, and claps him on the shoulder before going to her room to get ready.

 

Murphy grins at Connor, who is staring at his own hands to avoid his gaze. “This’ll be fun, Ma’s a laugh at te cinema, always tryin’ te sneak inta more movies and bring in food. They don’ let ye, see. They want ye te buy their food, bu’ it’s so feckin’ expensive we always bring our own.”

 

Connor stands from the table without answering or meeting his gaze, and pours the rest of his coffee out.

 

Murphy huffs impatiently, and if he’s being honest, a bit sadly, and looks at his own hands. “’s that it, then? Yer gonna ignore me?”

 

Connor finally, _finally_ , turns to look at him, and Murphy perks up hopefully.

 

“Aye,” Connor whispers, then leaves the room.

 

Murphy feels like someone has punched him. What the fuck is going on?

 

And how the hell can he fix it?

 

 

 

 

 

The day passes in a blur of cinemas and candy. Both Murphy and Annabelle let out peals of laughter at Connor’s innocently reverent expression the first time he sees the big screen. They chuckle harder when he jumps as the previews start.

 

“Aye, it’s loud, boyo. Bu’ ye get used to it,” Annabelle shouts in his ear, and several people in front turn to glare at them. Annabelle flips them the bird, and Connor snorts in surprise.

 

He’s afraid he might be coming to like her.

 

By the end of the day, Annabelle and her boys are so full of junk food that the thought of dinner repulses them. They go to bed early, but not before she gets a hug out of Connor, who carefully wraps a loose arm over her shoulders after a moment.

 

He can’t really remember if he’s gotten a hug before. He figures his Da probably hugged him when he was a lad, but he can’t recall. He doesn’t really know if he likes them.

 

He notices Murphy standing over Annabelle’s shoulder, and ducks his head so he can’t see the curiosity on his face.

 

Murphy is watching Connor’s awkward attempt at an embrace with a strange flutter in his stomach. He thinks it might be sadness. Connor looks so out of place in the arms of his Ma, not because he doesn’t want to be there, but because he does, but isn’t sure how.

 

Annabelle lets him go, and beams at him, and Connor drops his arm so fast that he smacks his own thigh. He gives her an awkward smile in return, and moves around her to head up the stairs.

 

Murphy comes over to give his Ma a quick hug, then bids her goodnight.

 

“Sleep well, boyos! I’ll see ye after I get off work tamorrow!” she yells, and they both wave at her.

 

Connor enters their room first, and he goes straight to the bathroom and closes the door. He stares at himself for a moment, and doesn’t really know what he sees. His face is still a little pink around the nose from the biting wind outside, for the three of them had walked to and from the cinema. And he has a slight flush to his cheeks that he doesn’t think has anything to do with the cold.

 

More than likely, it has to do with this family.

  
Annabelle had mentioned earlier that he has extended family in town, and she’s made them all promise to stay away until Connor is ready to meet them. She said that they’re all dying to see him, as she had told them that Noah had taken him without her consent, and they had helped to keep his existence a secret from Murphy, but never stopped caring for him.

 

As they weren’t complicit in this whole debacle, Connor isn’t angry with any of these nameless and faceless people. He just hasn’t ever had more than his Da, and doesn’t know what to do with the idea of extended family.

 

To start off with meeting people, Annabelle told him he’s welcome to come over to the bar tomorrow night to meet his Uncle Sibeal. He’s Annabelle’s brother, and the owner of the bar. Connor thinks he might go.

 

He rubs his hands over his arms, remembering what it felt like to be in Annabelle’s embrace. It’s hard to describe, really. He’s been touched plenty, of course, both innocently and sexually. His Da put his hand on his shoulder often, and would sometimes drape his arm across both of Connor’s shoulders. There was Andrew and some others, and then Murphy, who touched most of his skin.

 

He just doesn’t know what it’s like to be embraced by a mother. Well, he corrects himself. He hadn’t. Now he does.

 

Connor smiles at his reflection.

 

 

 

 

 

Murphy is wrapped up in his covers early Sunday morning, thinking. He shouldn’t be thinking this early in the day, but he can’t help but wonder what the boy in the next bed, who is so buried underneath his duvet that Murphy can only see the top of his golden head peeking out, is dreaming about.

 

Is he dreaming of me? Murphy wonders. Then he scoffs at himself. He’s being such a fucking girl, it’s pathetic.

 

Unwillingly, though, Murphy closes his eyes and is immediately assailed with images of Connor.

 

Connor in the midst of climax, his head arched back against the bed. Connor leaning in to kiss him in the bathroom, both hands cradling Murphy’s face. Connor with an arm wrapped around his Ma, his expression such a mix of heartbreaking confusion and hope that Murphy wants to hug him all the fiercer, to show him that it shouldn’t be something rare.

 

Murphy finds himself missing Connor’s voice. He misses the sly looks, the smug smiles, the banter, and Connor’s teasing. He misses Connor’s sweet smile when he looks down at Murphy, on his bed, when they’re naked together and Connor takes just a moment to look at him, a reverent expression on his face.

 

Murphy misses seeing Connor’s beautiful body spread out beneath him, or above him, or beside him. They were only together once, really, but Murphy feels like it lasted both only a few seconds and for a decade. It feels like there won’t ever be anyone else like Connor in his life, and that somehow Murphy screwed it up.

 

He hears Connor shift in his bed and looks over as the boy rises and heads to the bathroom. The shower turns on, and Murphy thinks about wanking, but decides against it. He’s not really turned on by his own hand anymore, and having Connor mad at him is wreaking havoc on his libido.

 

Connor steps out of the shower and dries off quickly. He steps into his jeans and pulls on a shirt and a jumper, then moves quickly through the bedroom and downstairs.

 

He pulls on his boots and coat, and steps out into the cold morning. He spends the day alone, in thought, and can’t bring himself to visit Annabelle or his uncle. He isn’t ready, not with half of the family he’s already met treating him like a worthless toy.

 

Connor ducks his head against the wind. He’s been walking for hours. He’s cold, and his face is numb, but he wants to stay out just a bit longer. He feels guilty for not going to the bar, as he knows Annabelle was hoping he would. Connor promises himself that he’ll go next weekend. Even if he has to force himself.

 

Nodding to the ground in determination, Connor heads back towards home.

 

 

 

 

 

  
Murphy only sees Connor briefly on Sunday night. He watches as Connor stays on the couch, obviously waiting for something. He thinks he might be waiting for Ma. He wonders if Connor went to the bar, but reckons not.

  
Murphy is upstairs doing some last minute homework, the bedroom door open, when he hears his Ma get home. He hears her greet Connor jovially, and smiles slightly at the thought that she isn't pushing him. He hears Connor’s low murmur, and an ache grows in his stomach that he can’t put into words.

 

Oh, how he wishes Connor would speak to him again.

 

But the night passes, and he doesn’t.

 

 

 

 

 

Monday comes, and Murphy doesn’t see Connor in class. He remembers by his second class that Connor is taking his Junior Certs today, and he hopes to see him at lunchtime to ask how they went.

 

But he doesn’t see him.

 

Connor is feeling the weight of ignoring Murphy more fully than he’d thought he would. It’s not in his nature to ignore anyone, especially not someone as captivating and… intoxicating as Murphy.

 

But he does it. Because he has to.

 

The alternative is unbearable. Connor can’t stand the thought of being strung along, or of caring for someone when all he feels in return is cheap affection or disdain.

 

His exams pass easily, and he’s told that he’ll need to come into school early the next day to choose his schedule after they’ve been graded.

 

He heads to Annabelle’s early, as he doesn’t need to wait for classes to end, and is surprised to find her at home.

 

“Connor!” she exclaims from where she sits on the couch, nursing a tumbler of scotch or whiskey. “What’re ye doin’ home? Yer no’ in trouble, are ye?” she asks sternly.

 

Connor smiles, and shakes his head, moving to sit down in the recliner to talk. “Nah, jus’ finished my Junior Certs. They tol’ me I could jus’ go home after I finished. I’ll choose my schedule tomorrow mornin’,” he explains, and Annabelle grins in reply.

 

“How’d they go?”

 

Connor shrugs. “Pretty easy. Almost too easy, really, afraid I mighta missed somethin’, like maybe there were some trick questions.”

 

Annabelle shot him a wry grin. “Nah, tha’s just me blood runnin’ through yer veins. An’ Noah’s. Sharp as a tack, yer Da. Murphy’s got it, too, the examiners didn’ know what te do wit’ him ‘cause he kept finishin’ the exams an hour ‘fore everyone else.” She chuckles, remembering.

 

Connor shrugs, unwilling to discuss his Da or Murphy.

 

“Ye alright, boyo?” she asks, studying him. Connor nods. “Look like ye go’ something on yer mind.”

 

Connor thinks about telling her that he and Murphy had a falling out, or that he doesn’t like to discuss his Da with anyone. He thinks about telling her that he still doesn’t feel comfortable having a mother, or a brother, and that sometimes he just wants to leave, and go somewhere familiar.

 

In the end, though, he just shrugs again, and smiles. “Nah, jus’ worried abou’ me results, ye know?”

 

Annabelle leans back on the couch, obviously appeased. “Aye. I’ve always hated exams.”

 

Connor is relieved that she bought his lie, and spends the next hour dodging subjects he doesn’t want to discuss. Inevitably, Annabelle continues to bring up Murphy, but Connor simply doesn’t reply when she does so. If he won’t speak to the boy, he’s certainly not going to talk behind his back.

 

Their chat comes to an end when Murphy comes home and Connor stands and goes up the stairs to their room. Murphy sighs as he sees Connor climbing the stairs, and then notices his Ma on the couch, smiling contentedly.

 

“Ma? What’re ye doin’ home?” Murphy asks quizzically. He sits down on the couch beside her.

 

“Bar’s closed today, somethin’ abou’ repaintin’ or some such shite,” she replies, and pats Murphy’s leg fondly. “So, how’re you an’ Connor gettin’ along?”

 

Murphy shrugs, unsure how to answer. The truth is out of the question.

 

“Dunno. Haven’t really talked much, I guess.”

 

His Ma tsks, and shakes her head. “Ye should try te talk te him, sonny. He’s a sweet boy under all tha’ bravado.”

 

Murphy snorts, unable to reconcile the Connor he knows and the ‘sweet’ Connor that apparently his Ma has been privy to.

 

“Hush, now, ye little pissant. If I say he’s sweet, then he’s fuckin’ sweet. Go on, go try te talk te him.” She shoos him away, and Murphy slowly gets up from the couch, weighing the consequences of disobeying his mother against being ignored by Connor again.

 

He decides that Connor is the lesser of two evils, and climbs the stairs quickly. He finds Connor reclined on his bed, reading the book that was assigned to them in History last week. As far as he knows, Connor isn’t obligated to read it, as he was never officially in the class.

 

Murphy realizes at that moment, more than any of the others before, that Connor is really trying to avoid him. He would rather read a schoolbook—a boring book, at that—than talk to Murphy. He feels a pang in his chest that he can’t explain away, and he drops his gaze to the floor, unwilling to be rejected again.

 

Connor never even looks up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and please review if you a have a moment!


	7. We are the ever-living ghost of what once was

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smut!
> 
> * I own nothing

Chapter Seven-- We are the ever-living ghost of what once was

 

 

On Tuesday morning, Connor is out the door before Murphy is fully dressed. He walks into the school’s front office and chooses the courses he wants to take. The advisor explains to him that it would be best to take his easiest courses this semester, as he’ll have a lot of catching up to do. Since he’s always had a knack for languages and history, he decides to load his schedule up with those courses. He ends up with Russian, French, Irish, and Latin. He’s also taking a history course on Ireland as well as one on Europe.

 

He realizes belatedly that he’ll be spending over half of the day in classes with Murphy. Oh, well. If he can avoid him in the same bedroom, he can do the same in a crowded classroom.

 

Connor makes it through the day with Murphy’s eyes burning through the back of his head, and resolutely doesn’t speak to him. He does, however, work out some of his frustration on other people.

 

People like Flaherty, and Allen. Brennan and Blake are worthy targets as well, so Connor makes sure to needle them to the point that they’ve dug crescent shaped holes into their palms from where their fingernails have dug in.

 

He can only hope one of them will jump him, so he can hit someone. He just wants to feel something other than this emptiness that he didn’t know was there before Murphy, but sure is noticeable now.

 

Or maybe it wasn’t there before Murphy at all. Perhaps Murphy dug the hole in his heart, and now that Connor has cut him out, he can feel the place where he used to be.

 

The week passes by in the same fashion. Connor keeps his head down when he sees Murphy in class or in the hallways. Murphy, however, keeps his eyes locked on Connor’s form whenever he can, trying to figure out how to make all of this better.

 

He can’t say that he wants things to go back to the way they were, with them trying to one up each other. Murphy doesn’t want to play games anymore, for that’s what he and Connor were both doing. Perhaps the problem is that Connor stopped playing, and Murphy didn’t notice the change. Maybe Connor doesn’t know how Murphy feels about him.

 

It wouldn’t be surprising, as Murphy doesn’t know that himself.

 

Friday comes, and Murphy is relieved that the weekend will start tomorrow. He’s sick of seeing these same people in the halls, and trying not to let on that something is terribly wrong. Connor, on the other hand, is itching for a fight. The thought of going home to share the house with Murphy for the weekend with all of this pent up frustration is unbearable.

 

He gets his wish when Flaherty corners him after school. Connor grins at him when Flaherty raises his fists threateningly, which seems to throw the boy off.

 

“Keep grinnin’, faggot. I’ll give ye somethin’ te grin abou’,” he sneers. Then he lunges.

 

Connor is wiry enough to avoid the large boy’s advances, and gets in a few good hits while avoiding injury to himself. Unfortunately, Connor has his back to the crowd, and that’s his downfall. He doesn’t expect for them to join in, or for them to push him to the ground and start kicking. Flaherty and the others are laughing over him, and he can’t see anything as feet kick his ribs and legs.

 

They only get a few hits in, though, before a bellow breaches the crowd and people go flying. Connor’s vision clears a bit and he sees Flaherty squaring off with a pale boy, tall and lean, with raven hair, and oh, fuck, it’s Murphy.

 

Despite his sore ribs, Connor tries to stand. Before he can find his feet, however, Murphy has the great lug Flaherty pinned under him, and is beating him to a pulp. The others in the crowd have backed away, a few of them sporting bleeding lips or bruised jaws. Apparently Murphy worked his way towards him rather aggressively.

 

Clutching his ribs in pain, Connor moves closer to Murphy, who is still punching Flaherty’s face, over and over again. The fight is quickly leaving the larger boy, and Connor needs to get Murphy the fuck out of here before he kills the fucker beneath him.

 

He reaches forward and grabs Murphy’s wrist as the boy pulls back for another punch, and Murphy whirls around, ready to hit him, until he sees who it is. “Connor!” he yells, standing up, but not pulling his arm out of Connor’s grasp. Rather, he uses his other hand to brush Connor’s hair from his face, and is running his eyes over Connor’s body, lingering on his ribs, which he’s still clutching.

 

“’m fine, Murph. We gotta get te fuck outta here, let’s go.” He starts to tug Murphy behind him, and notices as he turns to walk away that the crowd has dispersed, and it’s just him and Murphy, and the great unconscious prick beside them. Murphy doesn’t budge, and Connor turns back to him impatiently, eyebrows raised in question.

 

Murphy’s eyes are full of an indefinable expression, something like grief, and sadness. But there’s also relief, and hope there. Connor stops tugging and stands still, taking in the emotions on Murphy’s face, and Murphy lets out a little sob.

 

“Fuck, Con, when I saw ye there, an’ ye weren’ fighin’ back, I thought… I thought I mighta lost ye, an’…” Connor’s brow furrows at the distress in Murphy’s voice, but he doesn’t say anything. “Ye stupid prick, I’m sick o’ this! Whatever I did, I’ll fix it! Just let me try, ye fuckin’ arsehole!”

 

And with that, he grasps Connor’s shirt in his free hand and pulls him closer. Before Connor has time to be surprised, or react in any way, Murphy has his lips pressed gently to his, and he feels the boy sigh into the kiss.

 

Murphy’s sweetness invades Connor’s senses, and he grasps the boy’s wrist harder, until he feels Murphy trying to shake himself free. “Wha-?” he murmurs as Murphy breaks the kiss, but he receives only a smile as Murphy runs his now free hand through Connor’s wild hair and tugs him back to his mouth.

 

Their lips move languidly, and Murphy has a death grip on Connor’s hair as he pulls him so close that Connor can barely breathe, but he doesn’t care because fuck, he’s missed Murphy’s mouth, and his taste, and his smell.

 

Murphy sighs again, and gently releases Connor’s mouth. Just as they pull apart, they hear Flaherty moan from the ground, finally coming to, and they step apart in shock. Fuck, Connor thinks, we just made out in the fucking open!

 

Murphy grasps Connor’s wrist lightly to get his attention, and they start walking towards home.

 

Silent, but together.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They don't speak for the rest of the day, but shoot each other furtive glances when they’re in the same room. Murphy feels vulnerable and exposed, as he isn’t sure how Connor feels about the kiss, or if he even wanted it.

 

He doesn’t know if Connor wants him.

 

Also problematic is the fact that they’re technically brothers, and what they’re doing goes against both their religion and the laws of nature.

 

Not to mention their Ma would fucking murder them if she found out.

 

They go to bed early without having spoken another word to each other.

 

Connor lies awake in his bed, listening to Murphy breathe in the darkness. The moonlight casts shadows over the room, and he can just make out Murphy’s pale cheek and black hair. He doesn’t know why Murphy kissed him, and it’s killing him slowly, not knowing. He won’t catch a wink of sleep this way, so he decides to do what he does best: act.

 

Connor slips into Murphy’s bed, trying to be quiet, slowly putting his weight on the mattress.

 

“What d’ya want?” Murphy mutters into his pillow.

 

Connor stops trying to be sneaky and lies down by his brother.

 

He’s never gonna get used to thinking that word. Brother.

 

“Earlier,” Connor says. “What was tha’ about?”

 

Murphy groans into his pillow, and Connor thinks about hitting him until he answers, but before he can, Murphy turns his head and appraises him with his clear blue eyes, so like his own.

 

“Was mad at ya fer ingorin’ me. Then I was pissed at that fucker fer hurtin’ ya. Then I was so fuckin’ relieved that ya were okay, that I just… kissed ya,” he says.

 

Connor furrows his brows, trying to make sense of this. “But _why’d_ ya kiss me? I thought ya hated me?”

 

Murphy rolls his face back into the pillow, and for a moment Connor thinks he’s trying to suffocate himself. When this fails, he turns back to Connor. “I think I had it all wrong. Think I didn’t hate ya, never did. Think I might… love ya. But I don’t know how. I’ve never had a brother, and I don’t know how to be one.”

 

“I don’t either. Don’t think we’re doin’ it right, though,” Connor says.

 

Murphy blushes, and Connor is enraptured as the pink flush travels up his pale, pale skin. He’s beautiful. “Think we’re doin’ somethin’ wrong? Do we need te stop?”

 

Connor shakes his head. He doesn’t pretend not to understand. “Why now?”

 

“Because at first, it was about gettin’ back at them, ya know? And about hatin’ ya and what ya stood fer. Yer proof that me Ma’s been lyin’ me whole life. And I thought I hated ya fer that. But now that I know I don’t, it’s just… dangerous. Don’t ya see?”

 

Connor shakes his head, and moves closer to Murphy. The other boy tenses.

 

“Maybe ya don’t need to care for me as a brother,” Connor says softly. “Can ya care for me as a friend, then?”

 

Murphy shakes his head, his blue eyes meeting Connor’s. “You’d make a shit friend. And I have enough o’ those.”

 

Connor smirks. “Well, then. Guess I’ll have to be under a diff’rent category.”

 

“And what would tha’ be?” Murphy whispers, his eyes wide.

 

“Who the fuck cares?” Connor answers, then leans forward to take Murphy’s lips in his own. Murphy groans as Connor rolls him to his back and presses him into the bed with his weight.

 

Their bodies meet from chest to foot, and Connor presses his hard length into Murphy’s. He moans into Murphy’s mouth when he feels the other boy’s erection against his own. Frustrated with the lack of skin-to-skin contact, Connor reaches down to push away the offending fabric from Murphy’s hips, and wraps his hand around the boy’s prick, squeezing the end before pumping smoothly.

 

Murphy tears his lips away and whimpers, biting his lip to stop the noises that want to escape.

 

“No,” Connor whispers into his ear. “I wanna hear you.”

 

Murphy’s lip is released from its prison, and a wanton moan escapes his mouth as Connor’s hand continues stroking his prick.

 

Gathering some of his wits, Murphy focuses as much as he can on ridding Connor and himself of their pants. He pushes Connor’s bottoms down past his hips, and they both groan as their cocks touch. Connor leans his head against Murphy’s shoulder and stops his ministrations and they both kick off their pajamas.

 

“God, please, Connor, don’ stop,” Murphy gets out between pants. Connor wraps a hand around both of their pricks and continues to stroke. He laces his other hand with one of Murphy’s and presses them into the bed, over their heads. Murphy is making little gasping noises and has his eyes closed in concentration, and Connor can barely keep his head up, the pleasure is so strong

 

Murphy’s unoccupied hand runs through Connor’s blonde locks and tugs, prompting a groan to escape from the boy’s mouth. Murphy can feel Connor’s warm breath on the side of his neck, and he turns his head to plant kisses down Connor’s jaw. His hand continues traveling south, over Connor’s smooth shoulders and back, and stops on his arse, which he grasps and pulls hard into himself, encouraging Connor to rut against him.

 

“Fuck, Murph,” Connor groans, and he lifts his head to kiss Murphy’s sweet mouth. Murphy opens his lips, inviting Connor in, and their tongues dance as Connor pushes, harder, faster into Murphy’s hips. His hand isn’t pumping their cocks anymore, and he uses it to brace himself over Murphy as he moves faster against the beautiful figure beneath him.

 

Murphy is reaching his breaking point, but he doesn’t want it to end yet. He wants to feel more, do more, he needs to feel Connor inside of him. “Fuck me, fuck me,” he pleads into Connor’s mouth, and Connor breaks the kiss to stare at him.   
  
“Wha’?” he mutters haltingly, his hips still moving rhythmically against Murphy’s. Murphy runs his hand down Connor’s arse and squeezes again, a grin coming over his face.

 

“I said I wan’ ye te fuck me, Con. Need te feel ye in me, please.”

 

Connor’s eyes flutter shut at the words, and he stills his hips despite Murphy’s grip on his arse. “Are ya sure?”

 

Murphy huffs impatiently. “Fuck, yes I’m sure, ya retard! Get the slick, it’s in my drawer, there,” he says, and points to his nightstand.

 

“Alrigh’, hold yer fuckin’ horses, ya bossy prick,” Connor mutters as he leans over the side of the bed. Murphy groans in displeasure as the cold air hits his body-warmed prick, but it’s quickly covered again by Connor’s body. He manages to keep his hand on Connor’s wonderful, firm arse the whole time.

 

He shivers in anticipation as Connor opens the tube of slick and squeezes some onto his fingers. “You ever done this?” he asks breathlessly.

 

Connor nods distractedly, his attention on bending Murphy’s legs and kneeling between them. When he sees how tense his brother is beneath him, his eyes dart to Murphy’s.

 

“Abou’ a year ago,” he says, rubbing Murphy’s leg soothingly with the hand not covered in lube. “But I prepared him, so I know what ta do. Don’t worry, dear brother.”

 

Murphy smacks Connor’s arse for that, and Connor grins, having successfully diverted Murphy’s attention from how nervous he is. He leans forward and kisses the inside of Murphy’s pale thigh before running his lube-slick fingers across Murphy’s balls and down to his hole.

 

He uses his other hand to continue stroking Murphy’s prick, to ease his pain and distract him. Murphy moans at the ministrations, and raises his hips into Connor’s hand.

 

“That’s a good boy,” Connor purrs, and Murphy groans at the pure sex in his voice.

 

Connor rubs his finger over Murphy’s hole, and slowly inserts one finger. Murphy squeezes it with his passage, and Connor moans at how tight it is. “Trust me. I’ll make it good fer ya,” he promises, and Murphy relaxes as best he can.

 

Connor strokes his finger in and out, widening the hole, before pushing in a second finger. Murphy grunts and jerks his hips at the strange feeling. Before he can decide if he likes the sensation or not, Connor pushes his fingers in farther, searching, and finds the nub he was looking for. He gently nudges it.

 

Murphy shoves a fist in his mouth to hold in a scream. Holy shit, what that fuck was that? He opens his eyes to see Connor grinning smugly at him. Narrowing his eyes, he pushes down with his hips to make Connor hit that spot again. Connor frowns at the attempt to take control.

 

“Now, now, Murph. Yer the bottom here,” he scolds, giving Murphy’s hip a slap. “No leadin’.”

 

“I’ll show you how ta fuckin’ lead if ya don’ get a move on, ya arse,” Murphy growls, wiggling his ass at the other boy.

 

Connor’s eyes narrow, and he squeezes the hand wrapped around Murphy’s prick, feeling a sense of triumph at the way the boy arches into his touch. Quickly, he inserts three fingers into the boy’s arse, and scissors them to make room for his hard, waiting cock.

 

“God, just do it, ya fucker,” Murphy moans as Connor hits his prostate again.

 

“Impatient arse,” Connor mutters, but quickly squeezes more lube onto his cock and slicks it up. He moves into position, throwing Murphy’s legs over his shoulders to better the angle.

 

He pushes in slowly, and Murphy digs his fingernails into his arms as Connor’s cock stretches his arsehole wider. He grunts as Connor’s balls touch his, and the other boy lets out a long, low moan, his head falling yet again to Murphy’s shoulder.

 

Connor waits for Murphy to signal when to continue, and bites his lip. Murphy has his eyes closed, and adjusts to the feel of Connor’s wide cock splitting his arse in two. He turns his head again, searching out Connor’s mouth, and it’s as if Connor knows it because he lifts his head just enough for their lips to touch once, gently, before Murphy bites his own lip.

 

“Move,” Murphy grunts. Connor doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls out, and quickly pushes back in, hitting Murphy’s prostate, and both boys groan at the feeling.

 

Connor rests his forehead against Murphy’s, and continues thrusting in and out of Murphy’s tight, hot passage, the feeling of unsurpassed pleasure building in his stomach and spreading throughout his body. He’s never felt so good before, so whole, so complete. He and Murphy fit together in a way he’s never experienced, and he wants the feeling to last forever.

 

Murphy’s legs are hoisted high up on Connor’s shoulders, and are getting pushed closer and closer to his own chest with every thrust. He’s practically bent in two as he’s being fucked, but he’s so fucking blissed out that he doesn’t feel it, or notice it, until Connor stops.

 

“What the fuck?” he screeches, but Connor doesn’t answer, just drops Murphy’s legs from his shoulders, and hoists the boy up until he’s sitting astride him, his cock never leaving Murphy’s arse.

 

Murphy forgets his temper and whimpers as the new position hits his prostate much more easily and fully. He can barely hold himself upright at the sensation, and Connor uses his bruising grip on Murphy’s waist to hold him steady. Connor’s legs are stretched out in front of him, and Murphy rests on them for barely a moment before Connor’s death grip on his sides encourages him to lift.

 

He does so, unsure about this position and how he can be expected to bottom from the top, until he slides back down onto Connor’s prick and fucking hell his mind blanks out from the feeling.

 

He rides Connor, hard and fast, his hips lifting and swaying and dropping again, and he can’t stop moaning. Connor leans forward to recapture his mouth and they go at it like fucking rabbits, their orgasms building.

 

“Fuckin’ touch me, Connor, please,” he bites out between kisses, and Connor’s left hand lets go of his waist to grab a hold of his cock, and he pumps it. Murphy bites Connor’s lip until he feels it split in his mouth, and his tongue darts forward to capture the blood.

 

That’s all it takes for Connor to explode in Murphy’s arse, and he moans as his hot, wet come covers Murphy’s passage, making his cock slide all the more easily as he rides out his orgasm. Murphy comes over Connor’s hand and chest at the feeling, and he leans his head back in fucked-out exhaustion. Connor darts forward to lick the sweat from Murphy’s throat, from his collarbone to his chin, his warm, wet mouth nibbling along his jawbone.

 

Still astride Connor, Murphy lifts his head, his eyes meeting Connor’s, and he holds the gaze as he bends forward to lick his own come from the boy’s chest. Connor groans, his eyes fluttering shut, and Murphy grins smugly at him. He lifts Connor’s left hand and licks and sucks on each finger, meticulously cleaning the come off of it as well.

 

“Sure ya never done this b’fore?” Connor asks breathily.

 

Murphy shakes his head and gingerly pulls off of Connor’s prick, grimacing sympathetically at Connor’s wince when the cool air hits it.

 

“Stayin’ here t’night?” Murphy murmurs.

 

“No,” Connor replies. Murphy’s face falls, and he starts to turn away, but is stopped by Connor’s gentle hand on his jaw. “An’ neither are you, the bed’s fuckin’ gross now. C’mon.” He stands, holding out a hand to help Murphy out of bed.

 

Murphy grasps his hand and is pulled over to Connor’s bed. Connor lays down, his back against the wall, and opens his arms invitingly. Murphy slides into the bed quickly, before his body can get too cold, and nuzzles his face into Connor’s chest, the blonde’s arms wrapping around him tightly. He can still feel Connor’s come in his arse, and he know he’ll be sore in the morning. He’ll never tell the boy how much he likes the idea.

 

Connor breathes in Murphy’s sweet scent, which is mixed with the undeniable smell of sex, and rubs his hands soothingly down Murphy’s back, slowly. Murphy relaxes into the touch, his eyes closing.

 

“Y’alrigh’?” Connor murmurs, and Murphy nods into his shoulder.

 

“Was fuckin’ fantastic,” he mutters into Connor’s chest, and Connor leans down to kiss Murphy’s forehead. Murphy snuggles deeper into Connor’s embrace and sighs.

 

“So, yer talkin’ te me again, right? Fer good?” he asks hesitantly. Connor nods against Murphy’s head, his hands still stroking his back.

 

“I didn’ know how ye felt ‘bout me, Murph,” Connor explains apologetically. “Though’ ye were just playin’ wit me, an’ I’d come te… feel somethin’ more fer ye.”

 

Murphy nods against him. “We were playin’ each other, tryin’ te get the best o’ each other. Bu’ how I feel abou’ ye… I didn’ figure it ou’ when ye did. Took ye cuttin’ me off fer me te figure out why I couldn’ get ye outta me head.”

 

“Aye,” Connor says softly, and he puts a hand under Murphy’s chin to tilt his head up. Their blue eyes meet, and Connor smiles gently. “Took me too long as well. An’ then, when I saw ye wit’ that boy, I just… couldn’ stand te though’ of bein’ te only one who felt like I did. ‘m sorry I ignored ye, Murph. I wasn’ tryin’ te hurt ye, I was jus’ like ye said… a coward, tryin’ te protect meself.”

 

Murphy smiles at him, and pushes himself up in the bed far enough to kiss Connor slowly, sweetly, memorizing his taste and scent. He’s intoxicating. Murphy pulls back and runs a hand down Connor’s face lovingly.

 

“Yer not a coward. I didn’ know how I felt, how were ye supposed te figure it out? Bu’ I have now, and I… fuck me, it should be harder te say this, I should be feelin’ panicky and scared an’ all tha’ shite, bu’ I don’. I just… I fuckin’ love ye, Con,” Murphy ends in a whisper, his eyes hopeful and sure.

 

Connor smiles brightly, his heart expanding until he thinks it’s going to burst in his chest. “I love ye, too, Murph.”

 

Murphy returns his smile, and kisses him one more time, before laying his head back on Connor’s chest.

 

“Night, Con,” he murmurs.

 

He feels Connor grip him tighter. “Night, Murph.”

 

That’s the last they remember before they fall asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I'd love it if you'd leave a review to let me know what you think!


	8. It is my better side of you to admire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots more smut!
> 
> *I own nothing

Chapter Eight—It is my better side of you to admire

 

 

Murphy wakes slowly the next morning, He’s confused for a moment as to where he is, because the sun isn’t shining on his face like usual. But then he remembers the previous night.

 

He smiles, and turns over to see Connor beside him.         

 

His… lover is lying on his back, his golden hair hanging over his face, and his pink lips are slightly open in sleep. Murphy rests his head on his bent arm to watch Connor sleep. He looks so young, and it’s not how he’s used to seeing the boy, though they’re both only sixteen.

 

Something about Connor makes him seem older. His bearing, or his personality, or something else intangible and just Connor, Murphy isn’t sure.

 

“See somethin’ ye like?” Connor murmurs, and Murphy jerks in surprise. Connor opens his eyes and smiles at him—smiles, not smirks, and Murphy is so happy that he automatically returns it—and reaches a hand out to Murphy, inviting him into his embrace.

 

“Didn’t know ye were awake,” Murphy answers quietly as he scoots over on his stomach until his body is against Connor’s side and his head is resting on a tan chest.

 

“I know. I could jus’ sense tha’ ye were lookin’ at me,” Connor says into Murphy’s hair. He inhales deeply, closing his eyes briefly as he takes in Murphy’s smell, the sweetness now intermingled with his own scent. Fuck, he loves smelling himself on Murph.

 

From where he’s resting on Connor’s chest, Murphy’s eyes widen. “Ye get tha’, too? The whole…sixth sense thing?”

 

Connor shrugs beneath him. “Aye. Think it’s ‘cause we’re twins.”

 

Murphy tenses over him, and Connor regrets saying anything. He knows that Murphy is still having difficulty reconciling what they are by nature—brothers—with what they’ve become—lovers.

 

Connor himself has a knack for prioritizing and compartmentalizing that comes in handy in this situation. He loves Murphy, but not as a brother, because he never knew him that way. He’s only known him as the beautiful, enrapturing creature that he is, not as he would’ve had he grown up with him.

 

Connor doesn’t know if he and Murphy would’ve become this if they had been raised together, but that train of thought is unanswerable and, therefore, pointless.

 

Murphy shifts where he lies on Connor’s chest, thinking about what happened the night before. He can’t help but bite his lip as he recalls the way Connor pushed his fingers into him gently, so fucking gently. He remembers how Connor lifted him to change their positions, how he essentially gave Murphy control, and how fucking good it was.

 

Brothers didn’t do this. But maybe it was time for Murphy to stop worrying about what normal brothers do; they aren’t normal. They didn’t even know the other existed until a couple of weeks ago.

 

Sighing, Murphy scoots up until his head is resting on Connor’s pillow. Connor moves his head enough that they both fit, but their foreheads are touching. Murphy closes his eyes as he gathers his courage to broach the subject that’s been on his mind since the first day he met the gorgeous, complicated boy before him.

 

“Connor? Can I ask ye somethin’?” he whispers.

 

Connor’s eyes were closed, but he opens them to meet Murphy’s hesitant gaze. Curious, he nods. “Sure, Murph.”

 

Murphy is silent for so long that Connor thinks that perhaps he’s changed his mind, but then Murphy takes in a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “What’d our Da do to get himself locked away?”

 

Connor gasps, taken by surprise, though he figures he shouldn’t be. Of course Murphy would wonder what their Da did. Connor practically threw it in his face when they first met, that Da is a criminal. Since then, Murphy hasn’t brought him up again, but Connor guesses that was because he and Murphy were so antagonistic to one another.

 

“I’ll tell ye, Murphy, but ye gotta answer somethin’ first. How come ye didn’ jus ask yer Ma?”

 

Murphy smiles at him sadly. “Ye know him, Con. Ma hasn’t seen him since right after we were born. I wanna hear about ‘im from you.”

 

Connor nods, understanding. He takes a moment, trying to decide the best way to tell Murphy this. Unfortunately, there isn’t any easy way to do it, so he decides to just rip the band-aid off, so to speak.

 

“He kills bad people, Murph.”

 

Murphy jerks back so quickly that he almost falls off the bed. His eyes are wide as they meet Connor’s. “Wha’?” he yelps.

 

Connor shushes him quickly, aware that Annabelle is down the hall, and pulls Murphy back into his embrace. His brother struggles for a moment, but eventually settles his tense body against Connor’s, his head on Connor’s chest again.

 

Connor runs a soothing hand through Murphy’s hair, trying to calm him, as he continues. “He’s a devout man. He’s on a mission from God to rid the world of evil men.”

 

Murphy pulls the comforter up from the foot of the bed to cover his body. He feels vulnerable, and he doesn’t like it. “Does Ma know?”

 

Connor shrugs one shoulder. “Dunno. Annabelle never mentioned it te me, bu’ I assumed tha’ was why he left.”

 

Murphy’s face is unusually blank, and Connor, for the first time, is having a hard time deciphering it. Abruptly, Murphy pulls away from him and stands from the bed. He runs a hand through his hair, and he starts pacing, goose bumps appearing on his naked skin.

 

Connor sits up and keeps his worried gaze on Murphy’s face. Murphy paces for a few tense minutes before speaking again.

 

“It’s Annabelle, then?” Murphy asks loudly. “What’ll I call him, then? Noah? Is he yer Da an’ she’s my Ma?”

 

Connor’s brow furrows and he stands slowly from the bed, hands held out in front of him, in a gesture meant to tell Murphy to calm down. “I’m no’ sure what ye mean.”

 

Murphy stops in his tracks, and his expression changes almost too quickly for Connor to catch it. The blankness disappears to reveal anger, and hurt, and confusion. Finally, there’s despair, and that’s all that Connor can take.

 

He steps forward quickly and, before Murphy can protest or move away, pulls the other boy into his embrace, one hand cupping the back of Murphy’s head and the other wrapped around his torso.

 

Murphy lays his dark head against Connor’s shoulder, his face screwed up against the assault of emotions that are wracking his body. Connor simply holds his shaking, naked body against him, and for once doesn’t feel arousal at touching so much of Murphy’s skin. Instead, he feels a fierce protectiveness, and a desire to help him, so strong he can’t even put it into words.

 

He’ll do anything to help him.

 

His hand is gently massaging the back of Murphy’s head, and he can feel the boy’s shudders slowing down and lessening in severity. He murmurs to him softly, low, comforting words against his ear, and Murphy wipes his wet face against Connor’s bare shoulder before lifting his head and meeting his brother’s eyes.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

 

Connor shushes him, and wipes off the remaining tears. “Don’ worry, dear heart. I’m here. Let me make it better, alright? Tell me wha’s on yer mind.”

 

Murphy closes his eyes at the endearment, his heart warming at the idea that he is dear to Connor, that he has a place in the boy’s heart. “It’s jus’… me whole life, me Ma tol’ me I didn’ have a Da, ye know? Never tol’ me anythin’, jus’ said it was me an’ her, an’… now I find out I do? No’ only tha’, but I gotta brother, a fuckin’ twin, an’…”

 

Murphy stops, and takes a few level breaths before continuing. “I feel like… I got me Da back… or at least the idea of a Da, an’ at the same time… like I lost ‘im anyway, ‘cause ‘e never needed me. ‘e had you. Ma had me, an’ she’s tryin’ wit ye, bu’ yer still callin’ ‘er Annabelle, no’ that ye shouldn’t it’s just like… yer lettin’ me know, without meanin’ te tha’… he’s yer Da, and she’s me Ma, an’… maybe tha’s better, keepin’ ‘em separate, what wit us… doin’ wha’ we are—“

 

Connor stops his babbling, at last, by pulling him into a soft kiss. Murphy whimpers slightly as his lips meet Connor’s and closes his eyes and just feels for a moment, tired of thinking. After his mind has quieted, he opens them, and meets Connor’s calm, blue gaze, and sees the boy smile at him. Connor’s smile is gentle, and kind, and understanding, and Murphy feels his tense body relax under it.

 

“Murph,” Connor begins slowly. “I know all this is confusin’. Everyone’s jus’ doin’ the best they can. Yer… Ma an’ I, well… I didn’ think I was gonna give her te light o’ day before I was out the door, but… I like her, te be honest. I don’ know if I’ll ever call ‘er Ma, bu’… when she fusses over me, or scolds me fer doin’ poorly on a test... I feel like ‘er son. An’ you’ll feel tha’ when ye meet Da. I promise. He’ll love ye, jus’ like I do.”

 

Murphy feels a reluctant smile form on his face, and he raises an eyebrow at Connor. “Ye still love me, then?”

 

Connor meets Murphy’s eyes, and says calmly, surely, “Aye, Murphy. I do.”

 

Murphy stares at Connor for an indefinite moment, before smiling so widely that his face feels that it might break. “I love ye, too, ye fucker. Though God only knows why.”

 

Connor grins back at him, and runs his hands down Murphy’s back, reminding the dark haired boy of their nakedness. “It’s ‘cause o’ me charm. Or maybe me good looks. Possibly my intelligence. I dunno, it’s so hard te choose, really.”

 

Murphy rolls his eyes, and pushes Connor hard, startling the other boy. He hits the bed with his hip and lands arse-to-floor, but before he can react Murphy is on him in a flash. The boy sits on his lap, and their soft cocks meet and instantly become interested. Murphy presses their lips together and devours Connor’s mouth, his tongue invading and tasting and relishing every bit of his lover he can reach. Connor moans against him and reaches a hand down to begin stroking their cocks together. They’re both getting hard now, and Murphy pushes Connor’s hand away, earning an indignant huff through their joined lips.

 

Murphy breaks the kiss and grins lasciviously before grinding his hips down against Connor’s. The blonde’s eyes roll back in his head and he groans, his forehead falling to rest against Murphy’s shoulder. Murphy grips Connor’s golden hair in one hand and pulls his head back up so he can see him.

 

“No, Con. Wanna see yer face when ye come fer me,” he says, his voice gravely.

 

“Fuck, Murph,” Connor groans, but keeps his head upright and his eyes open as Murphy rides him, the friction on his cock reaching an intensity he’s never felt outside of sex.

 

Connor mutters a curse, and Murphy darts forward to kiss his swollen, pink mouth as their hips continue their disjointed rhythm. The warmth in Connor’s belly is growing, spreading up to his chest, which is pressed to Murphy’s, and his arms, which are wrapped around Murphy’s back, holding him close.

 

And just when both boys are on the brink of exploding, they hear footsteps coming up the stairs. Connor doesn’t really hear it, to be honest, so far gone is he in the pleasures that Murphy is invoking in his body, but Murphy does. He stops, so abruptly Connor groans, and Murphy quickly slaps a hand over Connor’s mouth.

 

At this, Connor’s eyes dart open, and he glares indignantly at his brother, only to see his gaze fixed on the door. Connor hears it then, the thumping of shoes hitting the steps. Murphy turns wide eyes on him, and then quickly scrambles off of Connor and pulls the boy up forcefully. Murphy shoves Connor onto his bed, and jumps onto his own mattress.

 

Both boys cover themselves with comforters and turn their backs to the door. A moment later, their door opens and Annabelle’s face peeks in. “Boys!” she bellows.

 

Murphy and Connor pretend to groan in annoyance and shift in their beds as if they are just waking. “Wha’? Murphy mumbles.

 

“Time fer school ye lazy pissants! Up! I’ve got breakfast downstairs, an’ it’s gettin’ cold,” she says, before turning on her heel and walking down the stairs.

 

Connor waits until he hears her step off of the last stair before throwing the cover off and looking over at Murphy with an amused expression. Murphy, however, looks vaguely panicked.

 

“Wha’s wrong?” he asks, confused. “She didn’ suspect anythin’.”

 

Murphy shakes his head and stands unsteadily by his bed before making for the bathroom. Connor follows him.

 

“Doesn’ matter,” Murphy mumbles to himself. “’s too dangerous, could get caught.. dunno what I was thinkin’.”  Connor hears every word, and grabs Murphy’s arm so he’ll face him.

 

Murphy’s eyes are still wide, and his complexion is ashen. Connor places his hand on Murphy’s cheek in concern, but the boy jerks out of reach. Hurt, Connor slowly lowers his hand. Murphy immediately regrets acting so rashly.

 

“Hey,” he says softly, and reaches for Connor’s hand to link their fingers. The panic is slowly leaving his body, though he can still feel the after effects of the adrenaline rush. “’m sorry. Tha’ was my fault an’ I didn’ mean te take it out on ye. I jus’… if Ma ever found out, or even suspected…” He trails off.

 

Connor nods to show he understands and squeezes Murphy’s hand. Murphy smiles, and continues, “Maybe… we shouldn’t do anythin’ here. At the house.”

 

Connor shakes his head, amused. “Where do ye propose we do it, then?”

 

Murphy’s face scrunches adorably in concentration, but he comes up blank, apparently, because he shrugs. “Dunno. Can’ do it in public, ‘cause, first off, we could get caught. An’ second, people know we’re brothers. Maybe…” He really, really doesn’t want to say this. “Maybe we should wait ‘til we’re gone. Fer college, or whatever.”

 

Connor’s face goes blank so fast that all Murphy can do is blink at him, staring. He’s becoming more adept at reading Connor’s blank faces, and this one isn't the ‘angry’ or ‘furious’ blank. Nor is it the ‘confused’ blank. He thinks it might be the ‘thinking’ blank.

 

Thinking is good, because Murphy sure can’t come up with a way around this.

 

Connor squeezes his hand once more, then says quietly, “Jus’ leave it te me.” He winks, his blank face transforming to one of mischief. “No worries, I won’ make ye go too long withou’ me.”

 

Murphy rolls his eyes, and grins at Connor, despite the curiosity brimming in him. He knows Connor won’t tell him until he wants to.

 

The boys get ready for school and go downstairs for breakfast. Their Ma is pleased that they’re finally talking, chatting like brothers, and her heart warms at the sight of Murphy asking Connor if he wants any milk while he’s pouring it. Connor nods, and loads Murphy’s plate up with buttered toast and bacon. Both boys also kiss her goodbye on the cheek before they leave.

 

She feels hope, at last, that things might be good between them.

 

 

 

 

 

Connor has come to school today prepared. Not just for his classes, though. He sends Murphy sneaky looks that make the raven-haired boy blush and look away. He can’t wait much longer.

 

When lunch finally rolls around, Connor’s cock is so hard that it’s awkward to walk, though he hides it well enough. He pulls Murphy out of Irish class after the bell rings, and his hand tingles where it’s wrapped around Murphy’s wrist. He drags him into an empty classroom in the lesser-used side of school, and locks the door behind them.

 

“What’re ye doin’, Con?” Murphy whispers urgently. Connor simply shakes his head as he pulls Murphy to the desk, and sweeps it clear of papers and debris. Murphy’s eyes widen, and his mouth opens, but Connor holds a finger up to stop him.

 

Connor untucks his shirt from his pants and unbuttons it, sliding it off of his shoulders. He leaves the tie on, and he can tell that Murphy likes this by the way he follows the line of Connor’s neck and unconsciously licks his lips. Connor moves on to his belt, pulling it off before undoing his pants. He kicks off his shoes before stripping off his pants and shorts.

 

Slowly, so slowly, he turns on the spot and Murphy’s eyes drop to watch his perfect, round arse come into view. He sees something that gives him pause, and opens his mouth to ask but is unsure whether he should. Then, he figures curiosity will kill him before Connor will.

 

“Con, wha’--?” Connor turns his head to look at Murphy over his shoulder. His brother’s eyes are locked on his arse, a mixture of lust and confusion on his face. He’d wondered if Murphy would know what he was looking at. He feels his stomach jump at the thought of introducing this to him.

 

Murph, who is his, and only his.

 

“It’s a plug, Murph,” he says softly. Murphy’s expression doesn’t change, but he lifts his eyes to meet his brothers. “I got ready fer ye this mornin’, an’ then I put this in, and it keeps me… stretched. It makes it feel better.”

 

Murphy’s eyes widen, and dart back down to the silver plug in Connor’s arse before coming back up to his eyes. “Ready f-fer… me?” he stutters.

 

“Aye,” Connor whispers, and he faces front again, and walks to the desk before them, leaning his elbows on it so his arse juts out slightly. “Ready fer ye.”

 

Murphy gulps, and he steps forward before he can even think of what he’s doing. He can’t do anything, really, except touch Connor’s perfect skin, and runs his hands through Connor’s hair, and find out just what this plug does. He reaches out tentatively and runs a hand down Connor’s back, and continues until he’s touching Connor’s arse, right above the plug.

 

Connor shivers, and pushes his arse out farther. “Aye, Murph. Pull it out, and slick yer cock, an’ fuck me. Please, please, fuck me, I’ve been achin’ fer it all day,” he groans, and his head falls forward to rest on his hands, which pushes his arse right into Murphy’s erection which is straining against the fly of his pants.

 

“Oh, fuck,” Murphy whispers. He can’t take it anymore, he’s in pain from trying to think of why this is a bad fucking idea. He doesn’t care. Every teacher in the school could walk in, and he’d still fuck Connor into this desk.

 

Not having the patience to undress fully, Murphy simply unbuttons his pants and pushes them down his thighs. He uses a booted foot to spread Connor’s legs further, and reaches a hand down to stroke his own prick. He’s worried about how dry it is, and if it’ll hurt Connor, so he quickly spits in his palm and slicks his cock before dropping down to his knees behind Connor to inspect the plug more closely.

 

Connor is breathing heavily, and his cock is pressed against the desk painfully as he ruts into it a little, but he’s so fucking turned on he can’t help it. He can feel Murphy’s breath on the backs on his thighs, and his hips jerk as Murphy grasps the plug and twists. 

“Fuck! Murph!” he grinds out. Murphy twists it again, and Connor’s legs buckle before he leans more of his weight on the desk. At last, Murphy pulls it out, and Connor groans at the change in sensation.

 

Without warning, he feels Murphy’s breath there, where he most wants it, where he most longs for Murphy’s tongue, and then cock, and he can’t help but buck against the desk, his cock protesting at the pressure.

 

Murphy’s eyes dart up at Connor’s movements, and he realizes, belatedly, what caused them. He’s never thought of doing… what Connor obviously wants, but he has heard of it being done. It’s supposed to feel good, but Murphy always thought it sounded repulsive.

 

For Connor, though…

 

Murphy takes a deep breath in, before blowing warm air directly onto Connor’s puckered hole, and the boy goes fucking wild against the desk, trying his best to stay still and failing dismally.

 

Murphy chuckles a bit at Connor’s loss of control, for he didn’t know if he’d ever have the opportunity to see it to this extent.

 

“Like tha’, Con?” he asks quietly, and Connor just nods, out of breath, his head still resting on his arms.

 

Murphy leans closer and gently licks the hole, and Connor’s entire body tenses. “Oh, fuck, Murph, please don’ tease, please don’.”

 

At the pure desperation in his voice, Murphy decides to dive in. For Connor, he’ll do anything.

 

He presses his tongue against the hole and swirls it, slowly pressing it in. Connor groans so loudly their Ma probably heard it at the pub, and Murphy pulls out to shush him. Connor nods frantically, and Murphy goes back in, his hands on either side of Connor’s hips, bracing himself.

 

His tongue presses in farther this time, and he finds that the plug did what Connor said it would. It’s almost too easy to stick his tongue in, and then work a finger in next to it. He thrusts, first with his tongue, then with his finger, until Connor is worked up to a frenzy.

 

Murphy’s own cock is jutting out from his body, still wet with his own saliva, and so fucking hard he’s afraid he might come from this. Seeing Connor lose control like this is a natural aphrodisiac, and he slowly ruts his hips forward, unconsciously searching for friction.

 

Murphy wants so badly to stand and take Connor, but he wants Connor to come under his tongue more, so he keeps his own arousal under a tight leash as he delves deeper into Connor’s arse. He darts his tongue in, tasting Connor’s earthy, clean skin, before pressing two fingers in and searching for the place that Connor had found in him the night before.

 

The moment he finds it, he knows, because Connor’s back arches and his head is at such an awkward angle that Murphy reckons it can’t be comfortable, but he doesn’t fucking care because Connor is coming, all over the desk and his own stomach, yelling Murphy’s name and Murphy continues to thrust his fingers in, riding out his orgasm with him.

 

“Fuck, Murph, fuck,” Connor mutters as his head drops back to the desk. Wearily, he sighs, and turns his head to look at Murphy, who is still kneeling, and smiles. “Yer full o’ surprises.”

 

Murphy smiles, and stands to run his hands up Connor’s back, rubbing soothingly. Connor groans, and arches into his touch. “C’mon, Murph, fuck me, please. Told ye I’ve been waitin’ all day.”

 

Murphy’s eyes widen, and he slaps Connor’s hip lightly. “After all tha’, yer still yearnin’ fer more? Are ye some kinda sex addict?” he teases, his voice light.

  
To his surprise, Connor’s voice is serious as he says, quietly, “Jus’ wanna feel ye, Murph. Wanna feel ye everywhere.”

 

Murphy shivers at the raw honesty in his voice. He presses himself against Connor’s back, but hates the feeling of the clothes between them, so he quickly pulls away to tear off his pants, shirt, and shoes, before resuming his position. He presses his cock against Connor’s arse, and they both groan at the contact.

 

Murphy runs his hands over Connor’s back, and sides, soothing him, and then lowers a hand to line himself up. He slowly begins pushing in, and the so-fucking-tight heat of Connor’s body presses in on his cock, almost making his knees buckle. He’s never felt anything like this, not even when Connor sucked his cock, or fucked him, and he’s never, ever going to be able to stop until he’s coming in Connor’s arse.

 

“Fuck, Con, yer so fuckin’ tight, didn’ know, I never knew it could be like this, fuck,” he mumbles into the back of Connor’s neck. He runs his hands under Connor, and grasps Connor’s shoulders from underneath for leverage as he pushes in further, until he can feel Connor’s arse against his pelvis and his balls against Connor’s.

  
“Murph,” Connor groans into his arms, and Murphy whimpers at the pleasure wracking his body. “Move, Murph! Please, fuckin’ move!”

 

Connor’s begging is the last straw, and Murphy pulls out and thrusts back in hard, using his grip on Connor’s shoulders to move faster. He continues pumping in and out, faster and harder, until he has his eyes closed and his forehead pressed to the back of Connor’s neck, and all he can hear is their skin meeting and Connor’s mewls and his own groans.

 

“Fuck, Murph, so good,” Connor gasps, and Murphy kisses his nape, sweat sticking to his lips that he quickly licks off.

 

Murphy arches his back to get a different angle, and the result is immediate. Connor’s entire body tenses, and he pushes back onto Murphy’s cock to get the feeling again. Murphy hits his prostate with every thrust, and he presses his lips to Connor’s glistening back.  “So fuckin’ gorgeous, fuck, Con, yer so fuckin’ gorgeous,” he mutters into his skin, and Connor groans all the louder and pushes back harder, his arse smacking against Murphy’s hips loudly.

 

Murphy lets go of one of Connor’s shoulders so he can work one hand underneath the boy and grasp his cock, and stroke him. Connor’s body shudders, and he lifts himself onto his elbows to give Murphy better access.

 

Murphy can feel his orgasm coming, and he wants Connor to go over the edge with him. He angles his hips and give one, two, three more thrusts, hitting Connor’s prostate, and Connor explodes, his inner muscles milking Murphy of his own seed. He coats Connor’s insides and collapses on the gorgeous creature below him, too stunned to move.

 

When he can, he presses gentle kisses along Connor’s shoulder blade, and he feels the blonde shiver under him, though he isn’t sure if it’s from the kisses or the cold.

 

Connor sighs from where his head is pressed to the desk, and he opens his eyes, the blue brighter than Murphy has ever seen it. “Yer fuckin’ perfect, Murph. Can’t believe I have ye.”

 

Murphy blushes, but continues his ministrations across Connor’s shoulder blades until he’s kissed both from end to end. “Yer one te talk,” he says sheepishly.

 

Connor shifts until Murphy gets off of him, and then sits up beside Murphy, his expression curious. “Wha’ d’ye mean?”

 

Murphy shrugs awkwardly, his eyes fixed on the floor. “Yer so fuckin’ gorgeous, I can barely look at ye sometimes. An’ yer so smart, an’… fuck, Con, what’re ye doin’ wit someone like me?”

 

Connor’s expression darkens, and he reaches out to grasp Murphy’s chin so he can see his eyes. Murphy is taken aback at the look in his eyes, and wonders what he said.

 

“Ye listen te me, Murph. I don’ ever wanna hear such shite come outta yer mouth again, ye hear me? Yer the mos’ beautiful person I’ve ever seen, an’ I’m not jus’ talkin ‘ abou’ those I’ve met. Yer pale skin, and yer hair, an’ yer fuckin’ shoulders, Murph, I wanna jus’… worship yer fuckin’ shoulders. An’ talkin’ abou’ me bein’ smart? Are ye fuckin’ kiddin’ wit tha’ shite?” he shakes his head. “Yer so fuckin’ brilliant it blows me mind. Yer better at half tha languages than me, and ye know German, which is one more than I do. Besides tha’… yer so kind, Murph.” His voice becomes soft, a caress against Murphy’s skin. “Yer so good. The way ye take care o’ Ma. An’ yer fuckin’ perfect fer me, so don’ fuckin’ say shite like tha’, alrigh’? Tha’s me fuckin’ brother yer talkin’ abou’, and I’ll beat yer ass if I hear it again.”

 

Murphy’s eyes are wide as they meet Connor’s, and he nods, shocked. He’s never heard so much from Connor at one time, and he’s also never heard so much about himself, about how desirable he is to the other boy, and he can’t help but smile at him. Connor smiles back and pats his cheek once before letting go and standing up.

 

“We’ve gotta get dressed, lunch should be over soon.” And no sooner do the words leave Connor’s mouth than the bell rings. Both boys scramble to pull their clothes on and rush out the door. Connor is slightly in front as they walk the almost deserted hallway, and Murphy reaches forward to subtly run his hand down Connor’s back to let him know he appreciates what he said, and to say he’s sorry for his own words.

 

Connor slows so they walk in tandem, and smiles gently.

 

No words need to be spoken, but Murphy knows he’s forgiven.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As the boys agreed not to fool around in the house again, Murphy figures they can spend nighttime actually getting to know one another. Since Connor’s explanation about their Da earlier, Murphy has forced himself not to think about it, because it’s honestly just too fucking much.

 

He doesn’t know Da, so he can’t say whether the man is on a mission from God, but Connor seems to believe him, and Murphy can trust that. But the fact that he’s a murderer is what’s driving Murphy mad. His Da? Connor’s Da? A murderer?

 

When they first met, Connor had so many walls up that Murphy wasn’t able to see the true person beneath. Now that he does, though, he can’t reconcile his lover, his brother, with the idea that he was raised by a killer.

 

There has to be more to the story. And Murphy intends to find out what it is.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and please review!


	9. I never want to hear you say you’d be better off

Chapter Nine—I never want to hear you say you’d be better off

 

 

When Connor comes out of the bathroom, ready for bed, Murphy is waiting. He’s sitting up in bed, with room to spare on his right side. Connor looks up as he crosses the room and stops in his tracks, eyebrow raised.

 

Connor smirks. “Thought ye said…”

 

Murphy rolls his eyes and pats the bed next to him. “Come over ‘ere, ye arse. An’ no’ fer tha’. I wanna talk.”

 

Connor scoffs, but moves to sit next to Murphy. He leans forward and kisses the boy softly before he can protest, but when he pulls back, Murphy just smiles at him. Connor returns it and goes in for a deeper kiss but is stopped by Murphy, who places a hand on his chest.

 

“No, Con. Really, I wanna talk te ye,” Murphy says, his voice almost hesitant. “Alrigh’?”

 

Connor nods, a little concerned. “Wha’s this abou’, Murph?”

 

Murphy is silent for a moment, and turns his head to look at a wall across the room, not meeting Connor’s eyes. “Da.”

 

Connor nods, but he’s still confused. He already told Murphy about Da a bit. What else does he want to know?

 

“More abou’ his callin’? Or abou’… somethin’ else? What d’ye wanna know?” Connor presses gently.

 

Murphy shakes his head. “Is he a good man, Con?”

 

Connor gasps, and grabs Murphy’s right hand with his left. He squeezes tightly, forcing Murphy to look at him before answering. “Aye, Murph. I know ye don’ know ‘im, but ‘e is. He kills bad people. He saves lives, really. He’s honest, an’ just. He’s a good father.”

 

Murphy nods hesitantly, eyes clouded with turmoil. “I don’ have any righ’ te ask ye this, an’ if ye don’ wanna answer, I’ll understand, bu’… what did ye do? Did ye… ever k-kill?” he stutters out, frightened of the answer.

 

He could never leave Connor. Not for anything. His brother fills a hole in his life that he didn’t know was there, and Murphy feels complete for the first time in his life. He won’t give that up, won’t let Connor leave, even if the boy has killed a hundred men. But he needs to know, nonetheless.

 

Connor holds Murphy’s gaze as he speaks. “No, Murph. I’ve never killed anyone.”

 

Murphy nods quickly, letting him know he believes him, but is careful not to show relief on his face. He doesn’t want Connor to think this, them, depended on his answer.

 

Connor continues. “I went te meetins, and traveled wit Da. He never lef’ me fer more than a week, an’ tha’ was always wit friends. An’ I drove, sometimes. He never let me watch, though I stopped askin’ when I was abou’ six. Dunno if I really wanted te, just wanted to be wit Da, I guess.”

 

Murphy squeezes Connor’s hand, and leans in to lay his head on Connor’s shoulder. “I believe ye, tha’ he’s a good man.”

 

“Ye do?” Connor asks, resting his head against Murphy’s. “How come?”

 

“’Cause ye turned out so… good. Yer so good, Con, an’ I don’t think ye see it. I know ye’ve had a hard life, an’ I think ye put up walls, but I’m so glad that ye bring ‘em down around me,” Murphy murmurs softly.

 

Connor breathes evenly for so long that Murphy is afraid that he did something wrong. But then he feels a hand running through his hair. It grasps his locks gently and pulls his head back just enough that Connor can press their lips together.

 

“Thank ye,” Connor whispers against his lips, and kisses him again.

 

Murphy feels lightheaded as Connor bites gently on his bottom lip before moving to nibble on the top one. Connor tastes so good, and Murphy reaches out with his tongue to taste his mouth. Connor lets him in and shivers at the sweetness that invades his mouth.

 

He can never get enough of Murphy.

 

The kiss continues slowly, leisurely, and neither boy tries to push it further than what it is: sharing. This is a type of intimacy that Connor never knew existed, and he feels so fucking blessed to have found it that he wants to stay here, in this moment, forever. Holding Murphy, kissing him, breathing him in.

 

Murphy breaks the kiss, needing to breathe, and smiles so gently that Connor’s breath catches in his throat. “God, Murph,” he croaks out. “Ye…fuck, ye have no idea wha’ ye do te me, do ye?”

 

He watches as red rises from Murphy’s pale neck up to his cheeks, and he reaches out to touch the heat on his face. Murphy leans into his hand and closes his eyes for a moment.

 

“Aye,” Murphy says softly, and gazes at Connor with understanding in his bright eyes. “I reckon I do.”

 

Murphy takes in the change in Connor’s expression, like he can’t believe someone feels for him what Murphy does. That, despite his bravado, Connor is as insecure as Murphy is. Perhaps even more so.

 

Connor nods slowly, his eyes on Murphy’s face, moving from his eyes, to his mouth, to his cheeks and his hair. They never settle, and something about it makes Murphy feel like Connor sees all of him. He senses that, even though they don’t know much about each other, the little details anyway, that he accepts Murphy, and all of his flaws.

 

“I should go te me bed,” Connor murmurs quietly, and though Murphy understands that it’s for the best—and his idea in the first place—he can’t help it when his face falls. “Murph…” Connor pleads, unhappy with Murphy’s sadness.

 

“I know,” Murphy laughs at himself and waves off Connor’s concern. “I’m bein’ stupid, an’ I know it was my idea. Go, it’s fine.” He forces a smile.

 

Connor hesitates, watching Murphy closely. “What’re ye thinkin’?” he asks.

 

Murphy tilts his head and looks down at his hands. He shakes the hair out of his face, and turns to meet Connor’s eyes. “Jus’ that… it was nice, las’ night, havin’ ye there. Yer so… warm.” He smiles sheepishly.

 

Connor groans inwardly at Murphy’s innocence, and the way he can capture Connor’s heart with so few words. He’ll do fucking anything to make his brother happy, he’s realized.

 

“I’ll wake up,” he states.

 

Murphy furrows his brow. “Wha’?”

 

Connor nods decisively. “I’m an early riser, an’ I can jus’ get up an’ move te me own bed before Ma wakes up.”

 

Distantly, Murphy notes that Connor has called their Ma, ‘Ma,’ twice now. He shakes his head.

 

“Are ye sure you’ll wake?” Murphy asks, hope evident in his voice.

 

“Aye,” Connor says, and smiles broadly before scooting his arse down in the bed so he can rest on Murphy’s pillow. Murphy moves down as well, and automatically shifts into Connor’s open embrace, resting his head on his brother’s chest.

 

He snuggles in a bit, and Connor runs his hand through Murphy’s hair, massaging his scalp lightly.

 

“Night, Con,” he whispers against tan skin.

 

“Sweet dreams, Murph,” he hears, before Connor switches off the lamp beside them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next morning at breakfast, their Ma is eyeing them suspiciously, as if her motherly radar is telling her they’re up to something.

 

“So, boys. How’d ye sleep las’ night?” she asks.

 

Connor’s face is blank as he shrugs, but she sees the slightest tint of pink on Murphy’s cheeks as he says, “Fine, Ma. You?”

 

She knows Murphy better than Connor for obvious reasons, and it makes it hard for him to fool her. But she decides to let her suspicions slide for now. Murphy is probably only guilty of committing the sin that most teenage boys succumb to.

 

“Same as usual, could break a rock on me mattress, ye know tha’ Murphy. Dunno why ye bother askin’,” she replies grouchily.

 

She catches Murphy rolling his eyes, and smacks the back of his head. “I’ll not have yer cheek this early in the mornin’, silent or spoken aloud.”

 

Murphy glares at her and rubs the back of his head. Connor looks as if he’s holding in a smile.

 

“’s the weekend tomorra. Got any plans?” Annabelle persists.

 

Murphy drops his hand and perks up a bit. “Aye. Thought I’d show Connor abou’ town. Ye know, give ‘im the tour.”

 

Connor’s blank face comes in handy then, as for a moment he has no idea what Murphy is talking about. Then he realizes that his sneaky brother is making an excuse for them to spend the day together.

 

He smiles at Murphy, then looks to Annabelle and nods. “Haven’t seen naught bu’ the school an’ the cinema.”

 

Annabelle shrugs. “The two o’ ye should stop in the pub if ye wan’. Connor, ye can meet yer uncle if yer up t’it.”

 

Connor hesitates, and unconsciously looks at Murph, who is gazing at him steadily, with a small light of hope in his eyes. He can’t bear to be the one to put that light out.

 

He looks back to his Ma and nods. She beams at him, and he’s astounded, for a moment, at how easy it is to make someone happy.

 

Their Ma stands from the table and gathers their plates. “Off te school, then. Don’ wanna be late.”

 

The boys follow her lead, and both lean in to kiss her cheek, before walking out the door in step, one after the other.

 

She smiles at the thought that if they had been raised together, this morning might have been just like this. The three of them chatting before school. Her boys leaving together, joined at the hip.

 

She turns around to finish the cleaning.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Connor is in his last class of school, daydreaming about the things he wants to do to Murphy, when the student next to him leans over and whispers, “So, you’re a poof, aye?”

 

He fights his instincts—which are to punch the fucker in the face, or to curse him into his next life—and faces him, glaring threateningly. “Wha’ was tha’?”

 

The guy blinks, taken aback by the ferocity of Connor’s stare, and gulps. “S-sorry, man, I weren’ tryin’ te insult ye. Jus’… some o’ tha fellas said they ‘eard ye goin’ at it wit someone in the old Chemistry classroom.”

 

Connor’s eyes narrow, and he clenches his fists to keep his hands from trembling. “How te fuck would ye know if it were me, arsehole?”

 

The boy seems to weigh the costs and benefits of telling Connor. Finally, he sighs. “They said they ‘eard someone yellin’ yer name. Weren’t sure who it was, though.” He shrugs, his expression nervous.

 

Connor turns his eyes back to the front of the classroom, his body tense with anxiety. Fuck. What if someone saw Murphy come out of the classroom later, and they put it together? He isn’t worried for himself; he doesn’t have much of a reputation to protect, though he does expect Annabelle—Ma, he corrects himself—to murder him. Or worse, castrate him. He grimaces.

 

What the fuck is he supposed to do? Should he tell Murphy?

 

As soon as the question enters his mind, he decides he has to. Murphy isn’t some dame he needs to protect. He can handle this, and Connor isn’t gonna hide anything from him.

  
The class ends and Connor exits first. He reaches Murphy’s class just as the boy exits, laughter in his eyes as he turns from the boy he’s speaking to and spots Connor. His heart lifts at the joy on Murphy’s face, and he can’t help but smile at him. He jerks his head to the left, indicating that they should head home. Murphy nods and says goodbye to his friend before joining Connor.

 

They walk together out of the school and start down the street.

 

Before Murphy can say anything to him, Connor decides to just rip the bandaid off, hypothetically speaking. “Murph, I gotta tell ye somethin’.”

 

Murphy eyes him cautiously, unsure how to take Connor’s serious expression or quiet voice. Is he jesting? Or should he be worried? “What’s up, Con?”

 

Connor sighs. “I was in me las’ class, an’ the boy next te me asked if I were a poof, ‘cause some o’ the fellas ‘eard ye shout me name yesterday in tha’ old classroom,” he spits out. Then he waits, bracing for the impact.

 

Murphy stops in his tracks, his eyes wide, and his hands shaking. The boys heard…. They heard him and Connor…

 

Oh, fuck.

 

He faces Connor, and sees worry etched on his beautiful face. “Do they know?”

 

Connor shakes his head quickly, and automatically reaches out a hand to comfort Murphy, but the boy pulls back. Connor’s hand falls back to his side, and he tries to hide his hurt. This isn’t Murphy’s fault. He’s just reacting.

 

Murphy sighs. “Sorry, Con, I didn’ mean te… this is my fault, I’m sorry.”

 

“No, Murph. It was mine, I’m the one tha’ took ye to the room. I just couldn’ stand the thought o’ not havin’ ye an’… I was selfish,” Connor replies.

 

Murphy shrugs. “Well, it’s fuckin’ done now, innit? We’ll jus’ have te get ye a story. Who d’ye wanna pretend te be fuckin’?”

 

Connor’s eyes widen. What the fuck?

 

Murphy huffs out a laugh. “C’mon, Con. It’s the only thin’ I can tink of. Ye have a better idea?”

 

Connor starts walking again, shaking his head as he goes. “Fuck tha’, Murph. How’re we gonna convince some guy te go along wit this? No fuckin’ way it’ll work.”

 

Murphy chuckles behind him, and starts to follow. “Ye really haven't been there long, Con, but everyone has a price. Ye jus’ gotta ask the righ’ questions.”

 

Connor sighs, and slows down so that he and Murphy are walking side-by-side. “Le’s jus’ ferget it fer now, alrigh’? Keep an ear ou’ fer gossip, an’ deal wit it if it gets out of ‘and.”

 

Murphy nods, and pats Connor’s back. If it weren’t for the fact that his hand lingers just a touch too long, it would seem brotherly. “Yer the planner, Con.”

 

Connor grins. “Yer righ’ abou’ tha’, brother mine.”

 

Murphy snorts as the boys turn onto the walk up to the front door. They enter and find the house empty, so they head into the kitchen to fix a snack.

 

Ten minutes later, and armed with sandwiches, crisps, and sodas, they climb the stairs and enter their room. Connor jumps on Murphy’s bed, and pats the space next to him invitingly.

 

Murphy rolls his eyes. “O’ course ye wanna eat on me bed, ye fucker. Ye wanna keep yers clean.”

 

Connor smirks. “Oi, Murph, we might be needin’ a clean bed later on.”

 

Murphy sits down next to him, and eyes him furtively. “Told ye, Con. We shouldn’ risk it.”

 

Connor smirk fades. “Aye, I know. I was jus’ teasin’.”

 

Murphy digs into his sandwich, thoughts on Connor, as usual. Fuck, how he wants to forget about his stupid caution and feel Connor’s skin, and his hands, and his lips. He feels heat crawl up his neck as he thinks about where his own lips—and tongue—were only yesterday.

 

Connor had really enjoyed that. But he hadn’t seemed surprised, necessarily. Perhaps that Murphy was doing it, but not at how it felt.

 

Murphy frowns. Had Connor done… that…. with someone else before? He knows that Connor is much more experienced, and he admitted to having sex before, but… just how much had he done?

 

Sensing that something is on Murphy’s mind, Connor nudges him with his knee. Murphy looks up and meets his gaze, a question obviously balanced on his tongue.

 

“What’s up, Murph? Ask,” Connor says.

 

Murphy doesn’t even bother feeling surprised that Connor can read his intentions. He just dives in. “Con, how… experienced are ye?”

 

Connor’s brow furrows, but he doesn’t pretend not to know what Murphy’s talking about. “Doin’ wha’, exactly? Sex?”

 

Murphy nods and shrugs at the same time. “Tha’… an’, ye know, wha’ I did… yesterday.” Murphy ducks his head and blushes. He continues speaking with his eyes fixed on the mattress. “How many people have ye… been wit besides me?”

 

Connor takes a deep breath in, and he puts his sandwich on his plate and sets it on the nightstand. He turns his body so that he’s facing Murphy on the bed, and then he tilts Murphy’s chin up so he can see his eyes.

 

He grasps both of Murphy’s hands in his own, and squeezes. If it were anyone else asking, he’d blow them off, or just throw a number out, hoping to shock. But this is Murph.

 

“Murph, before I came ‘ere, an’ me an’ Da were on the run, I met a lotta… older guys. More experienced, ye know? An’… some o’ them were, if no’ bent, then at least….open te dif’rent tings,” Connor starts, and he watches as Murphy’s eyes widen in horror.

 

“Ye… ye’re only sixteen, Con! Wha’ the fuck? How old’re we talkin’?” Murphy’s voice is rising in both pitch and volume, so Connor begins rubbing the backs of his twin’s hands with his thumbs, soothingly.

 

“Te youngest person I ever been wit, before ye, was twenty-three. I was fifteen. There were two others: one was around thirty, the other was thirty-two, I tink. It weren’t a big deal, Murph, they didn’ do anythin’ I didn’ want at the time,” Connor pleads gently, trying to assuage Murphy’s discomfort.

 

Murphy pulls his hands out of Connor’s grasp forcefully, and he regrets it when the hurt expression Connor had tried so hard to hide earlier comes back. He doesn’t grab Connor’s hands again, though. He needs to pace.

 

He stands and begins walking from one end of their small room to the other, then back again. Connor watches him with only his eyes, keeping his head still as he observes Murphy’s irritated pacing.

 

Murphy is ringing his hands and then running them through his hair. He puts one up to his mouth and starts chewing, then he turns his head to look at Connor, and keeps his gaze there as he moves about the room.

 

“Fuck, Con! I don’… I don’ know what te do! I’m just so… fuck, so…” Murphy splutters, and he sees Connor’s expression fall further, and his own heart runs cold.

 

“So, ye don’… wanna be wit me anymore?” Connor asks quietly, pain on his face, his body tense.

 

Murphy drops the hand from his mouth and moves towards Connor so fast that the blonde boy flinches, expecting a blow. Instead, he gets an armful of his brother, who is sobbing his heart out on his shoulder. His arms tighten around the thin body wrapped around him, squeezing tight.

 

“Fuck ye, Con, fer sayin’ tha’!” Murphy chokes out. “I coul’ never leave ye, never. I’m no’ mad at ye, ye stupid fucker, I’m mad at te perverts tha’ touched ye. I swear te Christ, if they were in front o’ me now, I’d shoot all o’ them dead, I would!” He gasps into Connor’s neck, and presses his lips against Connor’s pulse point, feeling the steady thump and relishing in it.

 

Connor huffs. “Nah, Murph, ye’re too good. Ye couldn’ kill someone in col’ blood.”

 

Murphy raises his head at that, and Connor is stilled at the dead calm on his face. “Watch me, brother.”

 

Connor shudders at the expression on Murphy’s face, and rethinks his initial evaluation.

 

Maybe there’s more of Da in Murphy than either of them realized.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	10. No one’s gonna love you more than I do

Chapter 10— No one’s gonna love you more than I do

 

 

Connor wakes early the next morning, ready for the weekend. He still has an armful of Murphy, as the raven-haired boy is snuggled into his chest. He lies quietly for a moment, feeling Murphy’s warm breath ghost across his skin.

 

He smiles.

 

This is what happiness feels like, he decides. He doesn’t know that he’s ever felt it before. But now, he feels as if he has a balloon where his heart should be, and every time his brother looks at him, it gets a little bigger. Sometimes it’s crushing, how much he loves Murphy.

 

But other times, like now, when Murphy’s body is relaxed and nestled into Connor’s, it just feels right. Like they were always meant to be like this.

 

Murphy mumbles something in his sleep, and Connor’s grin widens. He runs a gentle hand through Murphy’s hair, massaging his scalp, and the boy quiets down.

 

Sighing, Connor realizes that he needs to get out of Murphy’s bed before their Ma decides to check on them. He looks at Murphy one last time, and the balloon in his chest expands a bit more, but he doesn’t mind. Murphy looks so peaceful, his long lashes casting shadows on his pale cheeks. Connor leans down and kisses his soft hair once, before slowly and carefully extricating himself from his brother’s grip.

 

Murphy sleepily protests, unconsciously squeezing Connor more tightly, but the blonde loosens his grip and slips from the bed. He stands and makes his way to his dresser, pulling out clothes for the day. There’s no way he can go back to sleep, so he decides to take a shower.

 

Casting one last glance back at his slumbering twin, Connor steps into the bathroom and shuts the door so the noise won’t wake Murphy.

 

He showers quickly, and when he pulls open the curtain to step out of the tub, he jerks in surprise to find Murphy sitting tranquilly on the toilet seat.

 

“Fuck, Murph! Ye scared the bejeezus outta me!” Connor exclaims. Murphy just smiles, and runs his eyes slowly down Connor’s naked, wet body.

 

Connor shivers, but doesn’t grab the towel to cover himself.

 

“It’s a shame ye didn’ wake me, Con. I feel dirty, also, ye know. I woulda liked yer help washin’,” Murphy says coyly, and Connor’s prick starts filling with blood at the sex in his voice.

 

“Wit what ye said before, I figured ye wouldn’t wanna risk it,” Connor says quietly, trying to ignore his cock, which is rigid now.

 

Murphy tilts his head to the side, eyes darting down to Connor’s prick, and unconsciously licking his lips before meeting his brother’s gaze again.

 

Murphy stands slowly, and only now does Connor notice that Murphy is wearing only his shorts. He stands as close as he can without touching his brother, and Connor’s wet body shivers at the warmth coming from him. Murphy smirks.

 

“While ye were washin’, I went downstairs. Saw Ma out the door, she went te the pub early. Won’t be back before nightfall,” Murphy whispers into his ear.

  
Connor doesn’t waste anymore time talking. He grabs Murphy by his arse and pulls him flush against his body, soaking his front instantly. Connor kisses him roughly, abusing his pretty pink mouth, earning whimpers and moans from the raven-haired boy.

 

Connor pulls away to turn the shower back on, and steps into the tub, pulling Murphy with him. They’re both soaked instantly, and Connor pulls Murphy’s shorts down. They fall to his feet with a wet splat, and Murphy jumps back into Connor’s arms, sending the blonde crashing into the wall behind them.

 

Their kiss is suffocating and all-consuming, but Murphy doesn’t care, because Connor’s lips are so soft, and he tastes so earthy and good. He loves how Connor tastes.

 

With that thought, Murphy quickly breaks the kiss and drops to his knees, connecting painfully with the tub, but he’s oblivious because he already has Connor’s prick in his hand. He strokes him once, and looks up at Connor, who has his bright gaze locked on Murphy’s mouth. There’s hunger in his eyes, but something else, too. Gratitude?

 

No, Murphy thinks. It’s love.

 

He smiles before leaning forward and taking Connor in his mouth. The blonde groans, and arches his head back into the wall behind him. His hands scrabble for something to hold onto, so Murphy loosens his grip on Connor’s hips to grab the boy’s flailing hands and place them firmly on his own shoulders.

 

Connor said he wanted to worship Murphy’s shoulders before, and both boys can’t help but remember that at this moment.

 

Connor squeezes Murphy’s shoulders, and he takes his cock deeper into his mouth, humming around him, which causes Connor to moan and his knees to buckle a bit before he catches himself. Murphy strokes the base of Connor’s cock, where his mouth won’t reach, and then pulls off to suck Connor’s balls into his mouth.

 

Connor thinks he’s going to faint. Murphy is sucking lightly on his balls, and his hand is still stroking his prick, and when he looks down, he sees that Murph’s other hand is on his own cock. He bites his lip and thrusts into Murphy’s grip as he moves one of his hands from the boy’s shoulder into his hair.

 

He grasps the raven locks and tugs, urging Murph to look at him. He releases Connor’s balls with an audible pop, and looks up at his brother. Connor meets his gaze and tugs harder. “Fuck me, Murph. Please, please, fuck me.”

 

Murphy nods, and grins devilishly. “As soon as ye come in me mouth.” And then he envelops Connor’s cock in his mouth and sucks, hard. Connor moans loudly, and his head hits the tiles behind him with a small crack. He thrusts into Murphy’s mouth, his hand gripping his hair tightly, and the pleasure wracking through his body rises higher at Murphy’s answering groan.

 

Murphy pulls as much of Connor’s prick into his mouth as he can, and then he swallows. Connor yells his name, and comes down his throat. Murphy is surprised that he doesn’t even really need to swallow, because Connor’s prick head was already in his throat. He does taste a bit of it though, and it’s different than he expected.

 

It’s a little bitter, but it still tastes like Connor: earthy and sweet.

 

Connor comes back to himself, and tugs on Murphy’s hair again to get his brother to stand up. Murphy does so quickly, immediately pressing his body to Connor’s and thrusting against the blonde’s hip. Connor kisses him sweetly, gratefully, and Murphy returns it with a small smile on his face. He pulls away, still grinning.

 

“That was fuckin’ awesome, Con. I made ye come!” he exclaims.

 

Connor returns the grin lazily. “Aye, I thought it weren’t half bad meself. Fuckin’ brilliant, in fact. Ye taste like me,” he replies, and Murphy hums before leaning in to capture his lips again.

 

Murphy begins rutting more quickly, and Connor wraps a hand around him and strokes. “Still want ye te fuck me, Murph,” he whispers over the sound of the running water.

 

Murphy groans, but shakes his head. “Don’ have slick, an’ I’m no’ fuckin’ leavin’ this tub ‘til I get off.”

 

Connor kisses him quickly, then presses his lips to his twin’s ear to whisper, “I want it tha’ way, Murph. Just yer cock, an’ yer spit, nothin’ else. I’ll show ye, jus’ trust me.”

 

Murphy pulls back to look him in the eye, gauging what he said. In the end, lust wins out. “Alrigh’,” he replies nervously.

 

Connor pulls Murphy’s right hand up and sucks three fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them slowly. Murphy groans and closes his eyes, relishing in the feeling. Popping the fingers out of his mouth, Connor turns and lowers them to his backside. He lets go to let Murphy take over.

 

“Jus’ like ye did b’fore, Murph. On’y this time, I’ve no’ been prepped yet, so you’ll need te go slower,” Connor says, his face angled over his shoulder so he can see his brother. He watches as Murphy nods, and his eyes widen when he sees the boy drop to his knees.

 

He realizes that Murphy is gonna do everything like before, including the first part. And then he feels his tongue, mush less hesitant than the first time, lick a stripe across his hole. Connor groans and braces his elbows on the wall, sticking his arse out farther and resting his forehead against his clasped hands.

 

Murphy uses his tongue to probe Connor’s hole, gently pressing in. He uses his finger, wet from both Connor’s mouth and the continuous fall of the shower, to help it along, slowly inserting it, then pulling out and inserting his tongue.

 

He finally works his finger in all the way, and begins to stretch the hole slightly to make way for a second finger. After a moment of searching, Murphy finds Connor’s prostate and nudges it, causing the blonde’s hips to jerk and a loud moan to escape his mouth.

 

“Fuck, Murph,” Connor whispers, but Murphy hears him. He pushes in a second finger and scissors them slowly. When the hole feels loose enough, he inserts his tongue into the hole created by the two fingers, pushing in as far as he can. Connor moans, and leans more heavily against the wall for support.

 

Murphy’s saliva is slowly lubricating Connor’s arse, so he takes his time in stretching the boy, intermittently inserting his tongue. Connor tastes the same as before, and Murphy isn’t surprised this time that he doesn’t find this repulsive.

 

Not when it’s Connor under his tongue.

 

He gets the third finger in, and after a moment, Murphy thinks he’s as stretched as he’s gonna get. Connor obviously agrees, because he practically shouts, “Fuck, Murph! Yer driving me crazy, jus’ fuck me already!”

 

Murphy chuckles, but wastes no time in standing up, as his cock is so hard that it hurts. He’s discovered something useful about himself lately, and that is when he’s pleasuring Connor, he doesn’t feel his own discomfort as acutely.

 

When he’s done though, as he is now, it’s all he can fucking feel.

 

Murphy presses himself along Connor’s back, and aligns himself, but stops. “No, Con, no,” he mumbles, and Connor whimpers under him. “I wanna see ye,” he finishes, and the blonde stills then turns. Murphy’s arms encircle him, and he folds Connor into his embrace, biting his lip as his cock brushes Connor’s hipbone.

 

“How? Ye wanna go te the bed?” Connor asks breathlessly.

 

Murphy shakes his head against Connor’s shoulder. “No. Right ‘ere. Lie down,” he instructs, and Connor does as he says.

 

“Like ye when yer bein’ all domineerin’, Murph. It’s sexy,” Connor says with a grin as he sits down on the tub floor. Murphy blushes, but luckily it’s not visible in the steam from the shower.

 

Connor lies back in the tub, and the water hits his face until Murphy covers his body with his own. Connor’s legs are spread, and Murphy settles his hips between them, positioning himself. He can’t wait any longer.

 

He meets Connor’s eyes to get the go ahead, and his brother nods at him, bottom lip in his mouth. Murphy leans forward and uses his teeth to gently free the lip from abuse before pushing his tongue into Connor’s mouth, allowing the boy to taste himself again.

 

Murphy pushes in slowly, getting more resistance than before. He takes his time, giving Connor the chance to get acclimated before pushing in further. It’s a few moments later, and he’s thrusting in shallowly, Connor’s huffing breaths in his ear, before he whispers, “Alrigh’, Murph. Ye can push in.”

 

Murphy does, pressing in to the hilt, and he feels Connor’s soft balls against his own. He presses his forehead against Connor’s and both boys close their eyes, breathing each other in.

 

Connor pecks Murphy’s lips, and he gets the hint. He pulls out, and pushes back in, more quickly this time. Murphy grabs Connor’s knees and throws them over his shoulders, remembering how it had felt the first time Connor had taken him. The results are immediate. As soon as Murphy thrusts again, Connor’s eyes close and his back arches as he lets out a moan loud enough to wake the dead.

 

Murphy hits his prostate with every other thrust, and the pressure on his own cock is growing with each moment that it’s encased in Connor’s tight heat. He can feel his control slipping, and he picks up the pace. He drops his head to Connor’s shoulder, licking the water off of his skin as he thrusts harder, and faster than ever.

 

Connor is whimpering in his ear, and his knees are touching his chest due to Murphy’s position, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Connor turns his head and latches on to his twin’s collarbone with his teeth, biting hard enough to break the skin.

 

Murphy groans, and thrusts once, twice more, before falling apart. He comes in Connor’s arse, and his twin follows right after him for the second time, cock untouched.

 

The boys try to regain their breath, and Connor licks Murphy’s collarbone where he bit it, soothing the ache. Murphy turns his head and kisses Connor’s jawbone, cheek, and eye, anywhere he can reach. Connor’s arms squeeze Murphy’s sides more tightly, and he groans softly, exhausted already.

 

“Fuck, I’m ready fer bed again,” Connor says. Murphy chuckles, then pushes himself up off of his brother. He turns the water off, and reaches a hand down to help his brother up. Connor accepts the hand gratefully and rises to a sitting position, wincing slightly. That’s twice he’s been on the receiving end, and this time with no slick.

 

Yeah, he’ll be feeling that for a day or so.

 

Connor uses the edge of the tub to stand fully, then shakily steps over the side, Murphy’s steadying hand on his back.

 

“Yer quite the expert, now, aye?” Connor says, half serious.

 

Murphy frowns at him as he steps out of the tub, and grabs two towels, tossing one to his twin. “What d’ye mean?”

 

Connor grins. “I mean, jus’ a coupla weeks ago, ye didn’ know wha’ sixty nine was, and now ye’re… well, fuckin’ amazin’. Ye’ve eaten me out twice, I came in yer mouth. I jus’ had two orgasms, and ye didn’ even touch me fer the second one!”

 

Murphy blushes and looks down to focus on drying himself. “I had a good teacher,” he mumbles, and smiles shyly before meeting Connor’s eyes again.

 

His brother is smiling at him softly, lovingly, and Murphy feels the heat in his neck spread to his cheeks. He loves it when Connor looks at him that way.

 

“H-how does it feel?” Murphy asks hesitantly. Connor raises an eyebrow, uncomprehending. Murphy looks down again, unable to meet his brother’s eyes when he says this. “When I… eat y-you out?”

 

Connor’s eyes widen, and he realizes just how stupid and selfish he’s been. “Fuck, Murph, I’m sorry. Yer jus’ so good at it, I never really thought abou’ te fact tha’ ye might not o’… it’s fuckin’ brilliant. Next best thing te sex. An’ yer blowjobs. An’ yer kisses. Well, fuck, ye know what I mean. Want me te show ye? Ye’ll love it.” He grins.

 

Murphy looks up slowly, and smiles before shaking his head. “Maybe later, I’m beat. Don’ think I could get it up if I tried. Nap wit me?”

 

Connor nods, sobering. “Ye don’ hafta ask, Murph. Ever.”

 

Murphy kisses him sweetly before moving to the bed and flopping down on it gracelessly.

 

He must be really tired, Connor muses. He joins his brother, and covers their naked bodies up with the comforter. He pulls Murph into his arms, and he smiles as his twin snuggles into his chest.

 

He’s such a contradiction, his Murph. He’s so sweet and innocent, but dangerous, and even ruthless sometimes. Then in bed, he’s just fucking… Casanova or some shit.

 

Connor falls asleep, arms around his brother, and dreams of nothing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Murphy wakes around noon, and he stretches his legs out, brushing his feet against the boy wrapped around him. Connor blinks his eyes open as he feels Murphy stir, and they look at each other, blue eyes heavy with sleep, features light in happiness.

 

Murphy smiles softly at his brother, and Connor raises a hand from where it lies on his twin’s back and strokes his beloved’s face lovingly, caressing the soft skin.

 

“It’s nice wakin’ up te yer face,” he murmurs, and Murphy blushes, and nods in agreement.

 

The boys get up and dress for the day, as they still have the weekend to spend together.

 

“So, ye wanna go te the pub, later?” Murphy asks lightly, not wanting to put any pressure on Connor.

 

The blonde reaches out a hand to his brother and squeezes his shoulder as they walk out the front door. “Aye, think it’s abou’ time,” he replies, and Murphy beams at him.

 

Murphy doesn’t care if their family knows Connor. Not really. He only cares that Connor is thinking as if he’s here to stay. He’s stopped acting as though their Da is going to call any day now, and more like he’s making this place his home.

 

It fills Murphy’s heart with joy.

 

Connor holds in the urge to kiss Murphy’s smiling face. The balloon in his chest expands more with every second he brings happiness to his brother’s face.

 

Murphy shows Connor around the city, pointing out the historical sights and the churches. When he points out his favorite restaurant, The Curry House, Connor drags him in and treats him to lunch. Murphy has a brilliant smile on his face for the duration of the meal, and Connor takes a moment to memorize how his brother looks, mouth full of food, smiling and laughing, and being generally uncouth, and just how carefree he is.

 

Connor has never felt more at home in his life.

 

A few hours after they finish lunch—hours that Connor uses to pull his twin into hidden alleyways and steal kisses—Murphy realizes they’re about a block from the pub, and asks whether Connor wants to go by now.

 

“Aye, why no’?” Connor shrugs, and Murphy leads the way there.

 

The door opens with a jingle and the boys walk in, Murphy’s eyes automatically going to the bar, where their Ma is serving drinks to the early birds, and Connor’s eyes scanning the room slowly, taking everything in.

 

Annabelle sets a pint down in front of the man seated before her, and glances up at the opening of the door. “Boyos! Glad ye coul’ make it!” she exclaims, and waves them over.

 

Murphy leads the way to the bar and sits down, and Connor takes the stool to his left. She gets them glasses of cola and then turns to get their uncle from the kitchen. Connor shoots Murphy a blank look, which his brother reads as nervousness, and he places a hand on the blonde’s knee and squeezes reassuringly. He gets a smile in return.

 

Their Ma bustles back into the main room with a middle-aged man, a bit portly, with graying hair and a brilliant smile, right on her heels.

 

“An’ there ‘e is!” the man yells, and he slaps Connor’s shoulder, who grimaces and shifts his body farther away from the bar, not enough that anyone but his brother notices.

 

Murphy smiles at his uncle, and stands to clap the man on the shoulder, diverting his attention from the uncomfortable Connor. “Uncle Sibeal, it’s great te see ye. I haven’t seen yer ugly mug in weeks,” he jokes, and Sibeal bursts into laughter and ruffles his nephew’s hair.

 

“Aye, lad. I figure I’ll be seein’ more o’ ye once ye can partake o’ me goods, eh?” he jokes, and Murphy nods, which causes him to laugh again.

 

“This is Connor, Uncle. Connor, this is Ma’s brother, Uncle Sibeal,” Murphy explains unnecessarily, and both of them nod at each other, Connor wary, Sibeal buoyant.

 

“Ye look so much like yer Da, Connor lad. It’s jus’ grand te meet ye, yer Ma’s tol’ me all abou’ ye o’ course,” Sibeal says, and Connor smiles hesitantly. He keeps himself from reacting to the mention of his Da, but just barely. He hasn’t ever been comfortable with discussing his family with strangers.

 

Uncle this man might be, but to Connor he’s a stranger.

 

“’fraid she ‘asn’t said much abou’ you, Uncle,” Connor replies, and Sibeal chuckles.

 

“Aye, she likes te pretend she don’t know me when she’s no’ workin’,” he mock whispers.

 

Annabelle pipes up from where she’s serving a customer a few feet away. “Course I do, yer a right idiot, brother,” and all three of them laugh at that.

 

Sibeal and the boys chat for a few minutes, before Murphy can tell that Connor wants to leave. He’s fidgeting his legs, and his eyes keep shifting about the room.

 

Murphy makes their excuses, and they kiss their Ma goodbye before leaving.

 

Connor gives Murphy a grateful smile, and bumps shoulders with him. “Thanks fer tha’,” he says quietly.

 

“O’ course, Con,” Murphy replies softly, and the boys continue the walk home in a companionable silence.

 

Connor’s mind is on his Da, and where he is now. He hasn’t been in a pub since he was with the man, so being in Sibeal’s brought back some old memories. Hearing the man tell him how much he resembled his Da also awakened guilt in Connor’s heart, for he hasn’t spared much more than a passing thought or prayer for his Da in over a week. He hasn’t heard from him, which isn’t all that surprising if he’s in prison. He also hasn’t heard from any of his Da’s crew, but he figures they don’t know where to find him.

 

He wonders if he should call them, if they would know anything about Da. They probably can’t visit the old man, but they all have contacts. They may be Connor’s only way to find out what’s going on with his Da.

 

By the time he’s home, he’s decided to call the pub where the crew usually meets in Dublin. It’s close to six now, and they should be arriving soon. If none of them are there, then he’ll start calling friends, but he’d rather start with the pub.

 

As he and Murphy walk into the kitchen to fix dinner, his mind is preoccupied, and he knows that Murphy notices. Rather than pressing, however, his twin simply keeps quiet, focusing on heating the casserole that their Ma left for them.

 

Murphy doesn’t know what to do about Connor’s silence. He knows the boy has something on his mind, but he doesn’t know whether he should pry or not. Is it his place? He’s not sure, so he keeps his mouth shut.

 

He’s laying out plates and silverware when Connor grasps his hand and pulls him into the den gently. Murphy follows without hesitation, and sits when Connor does. Connor won’t meet his eyes, but he doesn’t look mad or upset, just thoughtful.

 

“I know ye noticed that I have somethin’ on me mind,” Connor starts, and continues after he receives a nod from his brother. “I’ve been thinkin’ abou’ Da. I don’ really know how he’s doin’ or where ‘e is. I think I’m gonna try te contact his crew, see wha’ they know. I jus’ wanted te tell ye first. He’s yer Da, as well, after all.”

 

Murphy blinks, and nods, surprised. Somehow, this had never really crossed his mind. In his head, his Da was always gone. He hasn’t given much thought to where the man is now. He knows he’s locked up, and he can’t see him. It’s not much different than the rest of his life in the end. His Da still has no face in his mind’s eyes. No voice, or mannerisms. No location.

 

But he understands what Connor means, and he waits patiently on the couch as Connor stands and picks up the phone to dial.

 

The phone rings twice before it’s picked up. “Pete’s,” a female voice answers.

 

“Marie?” Connor asks.

 

“Aye? Who’s this?”

 

“It’s Connor MacManus. Is Billy in? Or Joe?” he asks.

 

“Oh, Connor! We miss ye around ‘ere, lad. Yeah, Joe’s ‘ere. Wanna speak to ‘im?” she asks.

 

“Aye, please. Lovely talkin’ te ye, Marie.”

 

“You, too, boyo. Don’t be a stranger, now,” she says, then hands off the phone. Connor hears a muffled conversation, then some ruffling before a new voice comes on.

 

“’ello? Connor?” Joe says, and Connor is surprised at the urgency in his voice.

 

“Aye, Joe. Everythin’ alrigh’?” he asks, and Joe laughs humorlessly.

 

“No, boyo, nothin’s alrigh’, no’ wit yer Da gone. The crew is in a shambles, an’ the Gardaí are watchin’ our every move. It’s a mess down ‘ere,” he says, and Connor can hear the strain in his voice.

 

“I’m sorry, Joe. I wish there was somethin’ I could do. I’m actually callin’, though, te see if ye know anythin’ abou’ me Da. Where ‘e is, how ‘e’s doin?” Connor says, biting his lip.

 

He hears Joe cover the phone and mumble something before more rustling comes over the line. Then Joe speaks again, but this time there’s less background noise, as if he’s moved somewhere quieter, and he’s whispering.

 

“I actually need te talk te ye abou’ tha’, Connor.”

 

A shiver goes up Connor’s spine at the tone of his voice, and he presses the phone tighter to his ear so can hear the man better. Murphy shoots him a concerned look.

 

“We need ye here, Connor. We need ye te come ‘ere and join te ranks. In return, we tink we can get yer Da out,” Joe says quickly, and Connor is speechless for a moment. What the fuck? Why would they need him?

 

“Wha’? Wha’ the fuck, Joe? Explain te me why te fuck ye need me there. I never even did any o’ what ye fellas do, ye know tha’,” Connor says, and Murphy stands up abruptly.

 

“It’s hard te explain, boyo, but it’s all politics. There’s a man in te ranks tha’ knows someone, one o’ those guys who wants te be in prison, who’ll take te rap and all tha’, ye know? He knows someone, bu’ he won’t share this shit withou’ somethin’ tha’ yer Da has. Problem is, yer Da’s no’ given it up, an’ yer te only one tha’ can convince the stubborn arse te give te man what he wants. Ye understand? If ye can convince yer Da te give te man what he wants, yer Da is free,” Joe finishes, and Connor sits down in shock.

 

Murphy sits down next to him, his fierce blue eyes locked on his brother’s ashen face. He put a hand on Connor’s knee and squeezes. Connor’s hand grasps his brother’s, and he returns the pressure, coming back to himself. He meets Murphy’s gaze, pain filing his heart at the thought of leaving Murphy.

 

“I’ll call ye back, Joe, but I imagine ye already know what I’m gonna say,” Connor says, and Joe sighs before hanging up. Connor puts the phone back in its cradle, and pulls Murphy against him.

 

He wraps his arms around his brother’s back and rests his blonde head against the boy’s shoulder, closing his eyes. He doesn’t want to think of this right now, but he has to talk to Murphy. His brother needs to understand why Connor is leaving.

 

“Wha’s goin’ on?” Murphy asks, his fingers massaging Connor’s scalp slowly. Connor sits up, pulling away from his brother so he can see him. He meets his gaze nervously.

 

“I have te go, Murph,” he whispers, and Murphy’s face, already pale, becomes bloodless. “Da needs me, please understand. If it were fer anyone else, I’ll tell ‘em te fuck ‘emselves. But this is our Da, Murph. I hafta go.”

 

Murphy swallows, and closes his eyes. He shakes his head before locking his piercing gaze on Connor once more. “I’m goin’ wit ye,” he states firmly, but Connor only shakes his head sadly.

 

“No, Murph. Ye can’t. Ye got yer whole life here: school, friends, Ma. An’ I don’ want ye mixed up wit te shit in Dublin, it’s best they don’ know about ye. I gotta do this alone,” Connor explains. There’s no fucking way he’s gonna let Murphy get involved with the shady underworld that he grew up in.

 

Their Da is a good man, but sometimes the people he works with are… not driven by the word of God. Oftentimes, his Da would warn Connor to stay away from certain people, and he would be damned if he let his Murph anywhere near them.

 

Murphy’s jaw tightens, and he grasps Connor’s hand, squeezing so hard it hurts both of them. “Fuck ye, Con! I’m comin’ wit ye whether ye want me to or no’! I can’t let ye do this alone.”

 

Connor hesitates, recognizing the obstinacy on his brother’s face. He sees it on his Da, and sometimes in the mirror. He knows he’ll never win this argument.

 

“Ok, Murph,” Connor says reluctantly. Murphy nods firmly before wrapping his arms around his brother’s shoulders. Connor hugs him back, breathing in his twin’s scent, his eyes closed. He never wants to let go.

 

The timer goes off for the casserole, and the boys stand reluctantly to eat, though neither is hungry now. Both choke down some food to satisfy the other, before they head upstairs. They both strip and get ready for bed before climbing onto Murphy’s mattress. Connor lies on Murphy’s chest for the first time, and the dark haired boy’s arms are wrapped around him tightly, comfortingly.

 

They whisper goodnight, and share a sweet, gentle kiss before Murphy turns the lamp off. A few minutes later, Murphy is asleep.

 

Connor stays awake, breathing evenly, and takes comfort in his brother’s presence. He doesn’t know if Murphy will ever forgive him, but he knows he has to do what needs to be done, and he can’t think about his twin’s feelings.

 

He can only think about his life.

  
If Murphy goes with him to Dublin, Connor knows what could happen. And he won't let Murphy get hurt. He’s too precious, too good. And Connor can’t bear to lose him.

 

So in the early hours of the morning, Connor slips off the bed and grabs his bag. He throws a change of clothes in it, along with the money he saved from his time in Dublin, doing odd jobs. He takes one last look at his slumbering brother before walking downstairs, the image of Murphy’s serene face imprinted in his mind.

 

He writes a quick note to Annabelle, apologizing for leaving so abruptly. He doesn’t tell her why he’s leaving, but he advises her that Murphy might try to follow him, and that it would be dangerous for him if he did. He knows that if he ever sees Murphy again, he’ll have to face some serious wrath, but he needs their Ma to keep Murph from following if she can.

 

Then he leaves. His heart heavy, he walks to the station, pays for a ticket, and boards the train.

 

A couple of hours later, Murphy wakes slowly, colder than he should be.

 

And then he sees that he’s alone.

 


	11. I'm miles from where you are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the beginning of part 2: Set the Fire to the Third Bar.
> 
> Enjoy!

Part II: Set the Fire to the Third Bar

 

Chapter 11—I’m miles from where you are

 

 

Murphy’s feet hit the stairs before he even realizes he’s moving. He jumps the last few steps gracefully, and runs into the living room. Empty.

 

No, he thinks. He wouldn’t do this to me.

 

He turns to go into the kitchen, and sees his Ma sitting at the table, focusing her attention on something in her hands. A letter.

 

Murphy’s legs are shaky as he walks slowly into the kitchen, his eyes fixed on his Ma’s face. “Ma?” he asks. “Where’s Connor?”

 

Annabelle looks up at her son, sadness brimming in her eyes. “He’s gone, boyo. Lef’ this letter, says he’s gone te help his Da. Yer Da,” she finishes quietly.

 

The grief he feels vanishes in an instant. It is replaced with an indescribable rage at the stupid boy who stole his heart, and then left with it, without a thought to what it would do to him. Murphy moves abruptly toward the front door, anger radiating from every pore in his body. How dare Connor lie to him? What the fuck was he thinking?

 

Why didn’t he want Murphy with him?

 

His Ma comes out of nowhere, it seems, and blocks the front door with her body. “No, son, yer no’ goin’ anywhere. Connor’s note said ye might try an’ follow ‘im, but it’s no’ safe fer ye there. Trust me, Murph, I’ve been in tha’ crowd b’fore,” she says, her face stern.

 

Murphy’s hands clench in fury. Connor warned her that he might try to follow?

 

He really did everything he could to make sure Murphy stayed here, then. Murphy looks down at the floor, trying to keep his temper in check. This isn’t his Ma’s fault, and he can’t take it out on her.

 

His Ma huffs out a humorless laugh. “Wha’ were ye gonna do, Murphy? Chase him down wit no money, and naught but shorts on?”

 

Murphy realizes that she’s right. And he hadn’t even noticed. He could see himself, now, running through Cork’s train station in nothing but his underwear, screaming his brother’s name.

 

A right fool he’d be.

 

It seems he’s already a fool, though, so what would it have mattered?

 

Murphy turns to walk back upstairs to his room. His room that still smells like Connor, and has two beds in it, but only one person, now, to sleep there.

 

He falls back onto his mattress, hugs his pillow to his chest, and lies there.

 

He has nowhere else to be, after all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Connor steps into the pub, his mind determinedly fixed on his Da’s situation, and not on Murphy, who is most likely awake now, and wondering where Connor is.

 

He doubts that it will take the boy very long to figure it out. And to become angry. Connor winces as he thinks about his Murph raging at him. Cursing him.

 

Hating him.

 

Shaking his head, Connor steps up to the bar and waves to Marie, who grins cheerfully at him. “Hey, Connor! It’s great te have ye back, boyo!”

 

Connor forces a smile, and angles his head towards the back room, questioning. She nods at him, indicating that the group is there. He dips his chin in appreciation and heads back to the meeting room.

 

The last time he was in here, his Da was being arrested right before his eyes. Connor shudders at the memory.

 

Though, if it hadn’t happened, Connor might’ve never learned about Murph, and been forced to live with him.

 

Connor clears his head of such thought. Despite the blessing that came out of his Da’s incarceration, he has to focus all of his attention on getting him out of there. And after he’s done, if he’s still alive, he’ll go back to his brother.

 

If Murph will take him.

 

Connor walks into the room, and all eyes raise to greet him. Then everyone tries to speak at once.

 

“Connor!” comes from different points in the room.

 

“Knew ye’d come, sonny!” is also shouted, along with a, “Damn glad te see ye, boy!” and a, “Finally!”

 

Connor’s eyes search the room, and land on Billy and Joe in the back corner. They beckon to him, and he joins them at their table, shaking hands and receiving back pats on the way.

 

He sits across from them, so he can see both of their faces, and keeps his eyes on Joe. “When can I see ‘im?” he asks without preamble.

 

“Aw, sonny, c’mon now, have a drink, lighten up. We haven’t seen ye in ages—“ Billy starts, but Connor cuts him off.

 

“I’m no’ here to socialize. I’m ‘ere to get me Da outta prison, an’ then I’m out. Y’hear me? Out. I got somewhere else te be, an’ I’m only here for one thing,” Connor says harshly, and both men’s faces fall. Joe nods to him apologetically.

 

“Aye, Connor. I’m sorry we had te drag ye down ‘ere. It was jus’ the only way.” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “Le’ me fill ye in on all o’ the situation, then I’ll take ye te see yer Da, alright?”

 

Connor nods, and waits.

 

“The man that can get yer Da out, the one who knows a lifer? He’s no’ a member of the group no more, ‘cause he went rogue a few years back. ‘is whole family were killed by this mob boss, and ‘e went fuckin’ crazy. Anyway, ‘e still has friends on the inside, an’ that’s how we got word of his deal. ‘e wants somethin’ from yer Da, an’ then he’ll help. I dunno what ‘e wants, only yer Da does, I tink. Bu’ we need yer help in getting’ yer Da te cooperate. We figured seein’ ye might be incentive te get the fuck outta prison, aye?” Joe finishes, and Connor tilts his head to the side.

 

“Why d’ye think he’d listen te me?” he asks bluntly.

 

Billy and Joe glance at each other, shock on their faces. Billy answers him softly. “Yer the only think he cares abou’ more than himself, Connor. Ye know that.”

 

Connor doesn’t know that, not really. He supposes his Da loves him, as he loves him in return, but after seeing Murphy and his Ma, and how they live together, it’s hard for Connor to picture his own upbringing as one that was filled with love.

 

Does a father bring the son he loves with him on missions? Does he leave him for days at a time, when he’s naught but a wee lad, with people he claims are friends, but who Connor doesn’t know from Dick or Harry?

 

Connor loves his father. He owes him this, too, for the simple fact that a son owes his Da love, and loyalty.

  
Billy must read the confusion on Connor’s face. He mustn’t be as adept at hiding his emotions after leaving Murph, he figures. It fucked everything up.

 

“Aye, Connor. Yer Da loves ye more than ye know. He was right relieved when we told ‘im tha’ the Gardaí had sent ye somewhere else, and he outright refused te tell us where ye’d gone. Now tha’ yer back, he’ll be rearin’ te get out, if only te keep ye safe again,” he says, and Connor’s eyes widen slightly at this revelation.

 

He knew that his Da would figure out where he’d gone. That wasn’t a surprise. The shock was that he’d wanted him to go there.

 

Well, fuck him. If he was so worried about Connor’s well being, why didn’t he send him to live with Ma ages ago? Why did he continue to raise him in this underworld full of guns, and blood, and murder? Connor had just started sleeping fully, without one eye open, and now he’s back on guard again. It’s like pulling on an old, ratty coat, that still fits, though Connor wishes dearly that it doesn’t.

 

He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to be like this, like some kind of animal, afraid of being attacked on the streets.

 

He wants to be with Murph, in Cork, with Annabelle, and stupid fucking school. He wants to wake up in the morning with a warm body wrapped around him, and Murphy’s sweet breath dancing across his chest.

 

Connor shuts his eyes, and forces these thought away. He’s having an even more difficult time than he’d anticipated.

 

“Alright, then, ye’ve told me ev’rythin’?” he asks, opening his eyes. Both men nod. “Take me te him.”

 

Joe shakes his head apologetically. “Connor, ye know tha’ prisons don’t allow visitors on Sundays. He’s in Wheatfield, so I sent in a visitor request fer ye this mornin’ after hearin’ from ye yesterday. Yer Da keeps ye on his list o’ visitors every month, just in case, so we don’ have te worry abou’ that, at least. I’ll hear somethin’ tomorrow, come back by around ten or so, visitin’ hours start at nine, so I’ll call then an’ find out if we can get in tomorrow. It’s the way of it, lad, I’m sorry.”

 

Connor sighs, but nods his understanding. He should’ve assumed that he couldn’t go see his Da as soon as he arrived. That would be too simple, wouldn’t it?

 

“I’ve got nowhere te stay tonight, boys. I jus’ left this mornin’, and stopped by the pub first ting,” Connor says, and Billy smiles at him.

 

“Well, ye know my cousin is outta town, ye can use his flat. Come wit me, I’ll let ye in,” he says, and Connor searches his memory for who Billy’s cousin is. He’s in the middle of standing when it dawns on him.

 

“Andrew?” he asks, hovering over the table, half-sitting like an idiot. He stands up straight and meets Billy’s eyes questioningly.

 

“Aye, boyo. Ye remember him, do ye?” Billy snaps his fingers in recognition. “Tha’s right, you and yer Da stayed wit him before. Last year, was it?”

 

Connor nods, and follows Billy through the pub, giving Marie a wave on his way out, and onto the street. He hopes that Andrew is out of town for his whole visit. He doesn’t want to deal with a former lover, not while he’s aching for Murphy. He doesn’t need someone watching his every move and wondering what’s wrong with him.

 

And Andrew can read him better than most people. Everyone except Murphy, in fact.

 

They walk for ten minutes or so, the rain bouncing off their shoulders as they trudge along in silence. Billy arrives at Andrew’s flat, and he pulls out his key ring to open the door.

 

They walk in together, and Billy pulls the key off to toss it to Connor. He catches it, and pockets it for safekeeping. “I’ll get it back from ye after, lad. Sleep well, and we’ll see ye in te morn.”

 

Connor nods to the man as he exits, and sighs in exhaustion once he’s alone again.

 

Now all he can do is think.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A few hours later, and it’s dark outside. Connor reckons it’s around midnight, but he can’t be arsed to stand up and find out for sure. He’s sprawled across the couch, arm draped over his eyes, and tries to imagine that he’s back in Cork, in bed with Murph.

 

He smiles as he thinks about the soft snuffling noises Murphy sometimes makes when he’s having a good dream. He loves the comforting weight of his brother draped across his chest. He wiggles his fingers at the remembered sensation of running them through Murph’s soft raven hair.

 

Connor groans as the daydream suddenly changes to Murphy on his knees, in front of another boy, sucking his dick with vigor. He squeezes the bridge of his nose, and shuts his eyes, trying not to see the Murph in his mind screaming at Connor, telling him he’ll never forgive him for leaving, for choosing to lie to Murphy rather than having him here in Dublin.

 

Connor is about to stand up and get a beer, anything to keep his mind off of his sudden nightmare, when the doorknob moves. He shoots upright at the small sound of a key turning in a lock, and then the door’s swinging open, and he’s face-to-face with Andrew.

 

Andrew, who shouldn’t be here.

 

Connor is suddenly very aware that he’s only clad in his shorts, and he quickly pulls the quilt off of the back of the couch and across his lap as his eyes meet Andrew’s.

 

The man is standing stock still inside the doorway. He shakes his head, as if not comprehending who exactly he’s seeing in his living room, before turning to close and lock the door behind him. Then he turns back to his houseguest.

 

“Connor? What are ye doin’ here?” he asks softly. His gaze darts around the room, probably to see if anyone else is here.

 

Connor shrugs. “Came to te city te see me Da. Billy said ye were outta town, offered te let me stay here. I can leave,” he answers, and starts to stand.

 

Andrew takes a few steps forward and clasps Connor’s shoulder. The blonde tenses under his touch, uncomfortable with it. “Ye don’ have te leave, boy, I was jus’ surprised is all,” Andrew says, and Connor nods. He shrugs off the man’s touch, which earns him a quizzical head tilt. “Y’alrigh’?”

 

Connor nods, and sits back down on the couch, quilt still draped across his lap. “Jus’ tired. I’m goin’ te sleep. Tanks fer lettin’ me stay here fer a coupla days.”

 

Andrew shrugs. “Course, ye know yer always welcome. Ye don’ have te sleep out ‘ere, though. Ye can sleep in my room, wit me,” he offers innocently, and Connor grimaces. He didn’t really want to broach this subject.

 

“No tanks, Andy. I’m fine out ‘ere,” he replies shortly, and he ignores the man’s furrowed brow as he lies down, pulling the cover up to his neck, and turning his back to the room and, consequently, Andrew.

 

“Alrigh’… well, I guess I’ll see ye tomorrow,” he answers slowly, and Connor listens as he walks to his bedroom and closes the door softly.

 

He sighs. This is going to be a long fucking visit.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Connor is woken in the middle of the night by a sound. He recognized it immediately, as he used to be the reason that it was made.

 

Andrew is wanking. Connor knows his little gasps and groans by memory, and he clenches his teeth as he thinks about what he would be doing if this had happened just a month ago. He’d be in there, making Andrew whimper his name.

 

Now, though, all he wants to do is cover his ears, and pretend he’s somewhere else.

 

Connor pulls the pillow over his head in an attempt to block out the noise, and tries to go back to sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The bell on the door jingles as Connor enters the pub for a second time, Andrew on his heels. The man was in the kitchen, drinking coffee, when Connor woke up, and offered to walk with him to the pub, as he had a meeting to get to as well.

 

Connor let him, figuring it was the least he could do after the man let him stay in his flat.

 

Andrew claps Connor on the shoulder before moving off in another direction, and the blonde grits his teeth in annoyance. He’s going to have to have a talk with Andrew about touching him. He’s too on edge to deal with it right now.

 

Connor walks to the table in the back where he talked with Billy and Joe the night before, and finds them in the same positions, as if they’d never left.

 

He sits across from them silently, eyebrow raised.

 

“Ye got approved, lad. Yer on the schedule for eleven, so we should head out now if yer ready,” Joe says, and Connor graces him with a strained smile.

 

“Thanks, boys. Aye, I’m ready,” he replies, and Joe stands, beckoning for Connor to follow. Connor gives Billy a nod before walking with Joe through the pub and out the back door.

 

He climbs into Joe’s car, his leg bouncing as soon as he sits down. Anxiety creeps through his body, and he stays quiet for the ride, his mind on what he’s gonna say to his Da when he sees him.

 

They pull up to the prison, and Connor exits the car and strides to the entrance with sure steps. He won’t show any trepidation in front of men such as the ones in this building. His eyes scan the fence, taking in the blue jumpsuits and the armed guards, but he quickly averts his gaze when he doesn’t see his Da among the men.

 

He gives his I.D. to the guard at the front desk, and signs in. He’s checked for weapons, and then ushered into a room that’s divided in half by a partition. On either side of it are little booths, with telephone headsets so they can talk to one another. Connor takes a seat at the booth that the guard indicates, and Joe sits beside him.

 

Connor ignores him. He doesn’t know why he followed him in here, but he doesn’t care, either.

 

His Da is brought into the room, and Connor’s eyes take in every detail they can. His old man is wearing an blue suit, like all the others, and his shoulders are set, wide and proud. His chin is raised, eyes fixed on his son as he takes his seat.

 

Connor picks up the phone and waits until his Da does the same before putting it to his ear. They stare at each other in silence for a moment before Connor breaks it.

 

“Why didn’t ye tell me?” he asks quietly, and to his utter surprise, he sees his father’s calm mask slip for a second before he pulls it firmly back into place. But his eyes are almost sad as he answers.

 

“Yer Ma and I were selfish, boyo. We both couldn’t stand te leave ye both, but couldn’t stay tagether either. We were selfish, and all I can ask is tha’ ye try te fergive us one day.” His voice is quiet, but Connor’s fury and indignation grow with every word.

 

“Ye tol’ me she was dead!” he yells, and his Da flinches, almost imperceptibly. “Ye never told me abou’ Murph, abou’ me other half! How could ye do tha’? How could ye let me grow up withou’ me brother?” Connor is breathing heavily, his blue eyes bright and fierce as he stares at his Da.

 

Noah weighs his words carefully as he speaks. “Ye’ve no idea how I’ve regretted wha’ we did, Connor. I wished, everyday, te fix it. But I had me callin’, an’ yer Ma… she couldn’t stay wit me. I know I shoulda let her raise te both of ye, I know tha’, but ev’rytime I tried te convince meself te take ye back… I couldn’t stand te let ye go. Yer me son, Connor. You an’ Murphy… yer more precious te me than ye’ll ever know. I’d lost him, I didn’ want te lose ye, too.”

 

Connor blinks, shocked. He doesn’t remember his Da ever saying the words before— _I love you_ —and his heart constricts at hearing the man direct them at him. And Murphy’s name, coming from his father’s mouth, is like knife in his heart, searing and sharp. He wishes that his Da hadn’t been so selfish, that he grown up seeing Murph’s beautiful face every morning. He wants to go back, now, and make everything right again.

 

Connor pinches his thigh, bringing his thoughts back to the present. He can’t ever truly wish to change the past. Despite his faults, Connor loves his Da, and would do anything for him.

 

Including leaving Murphy.

 

“Alright, Da. We can… talk about all tha’ when yer outta here,” Connor says, and his father’s head shakes firmly.

 

“No, Connor. I’m not gettin’ out, no’ like this. Ye don’ know what the man’s askin’ fer, boyo. If ye did, ye’d understand,” he replies, his expression beseeching. Connor knows what his Da expects him to do. He wants him to be a good boy, to drop it like he would’ve if his Da asked him to, had this happened a few weeks ago.

 

Unfortunately for Noah, a lot of things have happened to Connor since then. He’s discovered that his father isn’t infallible, and that he makes mistakes, and often regrets them.  

 

Connor has also found a reason to disobey his father. He has motive to get out of Dublin, and he won’t let anyone, not even his Da, stop him.

 

He shakes his head firmly, gaze locked on his Da’s. “No, I’m no’ just gonna take yer word fer it, Da. I need te know what it is, so maybe I can find a way around this. I’m no’ leavin’ ye in there, not if there’s somethin’ I can do about it.”

 

Noah sighs, and looks to Joe, giving him a nod. Joe nods back and stands. He walks to the guard at the end of the room, and is led out.

 

Noah wants to have this conversation alone with his son, it seems.

 

Connor’s Da studies his hands a moment, rubbing the counter in front of him with his thumbs. Then he raises his eyes, and the blue, to Connor, looks haunted.

 

“A few years back,” he begins slowly, “I went on a job. It was a mob boss, big man in te Italian mafia. He was supposed te be alone in te house, bu’… when I got in there, well. His wife, and his boy and girl were all inside. Ting was… they had no idea, really, of what he’d done. Not even te wife. She was so young, and te kids were…” Noah clears his throat.

 

“I couldn’… so I go’ them outta there. I set them up somewhere safe, an’ I never spoke a word of it te no one.” He takes a deep breath, and Connor has the urge to put his arm around his Da’s shoulder to offer comfort, but he knows it’s impossible. He remains quiet, and keeps his eyes focused on his Da. “This man, Robert Berne,” he says the name like a curse, “found out. I dunno how. Bu’… he knows the family is still alive, an’ he wants ‘em. Some kinda fucked up retribution. He want crazy a few years back, when his wife an’ two boys were murdered. Well, te man that killed ‘em… “ He raises his eyes to his son, and Connor nods in understanding. The family his Da hid… the man he killed. “He murdered Berne’s family, and now…he wants revenge. I feel fer te man, bu’… no amount o’ killin’ women an’ children is gonna bring back his family. I can’ do it, son. Please, don’t ask it of me.”

 

Connor’s eyes are wide, and he shakes his head slowly. “No, Da, I wouldn’t… not if it means te death o’ kids, bu’… is there any other way? Anythin’ else he wants?”

 

Noah shakes his head sadly. “’fraid no’, boyo. If there is, he hasn’t mentioned it.”

 

Connor nods, his mind elsewhere. Maybe ha can get to the man, talk to him. He has to stick around to do that, though, and he wants to get back. He shakes his head. Murph is safe in Cork, and his Da is locked up with the lowlifes and ingrates that he hunts for a living. There’s no telling how much longer he’ll last in prison.

 

Connor has to stay. He has to try.

 

He raises his eyes, and the determination in them takes Noah aback. “What’re ye thinkin’, son? Wha’ever t’is, ferget it. Get back te yer Ma and brother, Connor. I’ll be fine here.”

 

Connor stands. “I’ll be back te see ye next week, Da. Don’ worry, I won’ give up on ye.”

 

With that, he turns his back on his Da, who is standing and hitting the partition, yelling his name. But Connor can’t hear him.

 

He’s already out of the room.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Murphy gets to school Monday morning, he’s on edge. His whole body is a taut wire, and one word can set him off.

 

As he walks to his classes, his eyes scan the hall, just waiting for someone to goad him, or just look at him funny. He’s dying for a fight, to feel someone’s bones crack under his fists, to see blood flying. He wants to feel the pain of it, the adrenaline rush and the fear.

 

He wants to feel something other than this aching loss.

 

He lasts until lunch.

 

As Murphy walks into the cafeteria, the first thing he sees is Flaherty smug grin, his big oafish face pulled into a grotesque imitation of joy. He struts over to Murphy, and mockingly looks around. 

 

“Where’s yer faggot brother, then, MacManus? He’s no’ here te watch yer back anymore? Wha’ happened? Did yer Ma find ou’ he sucks cock an’ kick ‘im outta te house?” He sneers at Murphy, but his expression falters when all Murphy does is grin at him.

 

The raven-haired boy steps closer, smile still stretching his face, and simply says, “Thank ye,” before smashing his fist into Flaherty’s face.

 

Everything after that is a blur.


	12. Chapter Twelve—There is no peace that I’ve found so far

Chapter Twelve—There is no peace that I’ve found so far

 

 

Murphy is holding a cold compress to his swollen lip, having just stopped the bleeding with some gauze that the school nurse gave him. Flaherty is lying on the bed in the small office, moaning about his face, and Murphy smirks.

 

That’ll teach him to talk about his Connor.

 

The nurse shoots a glare at him, and Murphy lowers his gaze. His Ma is on her way to the school now, and then she’d go and talk to the president. That was going to be fun.

 

Murphy can’t find it in himself to care that he will most likely be suspended, possibly expelled. Though, if he’s punished more severely than the shitheads that attacked Connor, Murphy plans to give the president hell.

 

Murphy’s leg bounces anxiously as he thinks about how his Ma is going to react, especially if he’s kicked out for this. All the pestering he did at Connor, about trying to fit in and not starting fights, and here he is, in the front office for wailing on Flaherty.

 

He doesn't remember everything that happened, really. He can recall, though, how quickly Flaherty hit the ground. Murphy is pretty sure that he straddled him, then, and continued punching his face until a teacher pulled him off.

 

He shrugs. It's done now.

 

Murphy hears his Ma coming from down the hall. She’s already yelling at whomever is walking her to the front office, and he almost feels sorry for the poor person. His Ma’s wrath shouldn’t be invoked on the average citizen. It takes a special kind of resilience to withstand it.

 

Murphy sighs, and gets to his feet slowly. He walks through the door of the nurse’s office and out into the main lobby, where his Ma currently has the administration clerk in her line of sight. The poor woman behind the counter has wide eyes and a terrified expression on her face, and Murphy decides to intervene before he and his Ma both are banned from the school.

 

“—ye tell me, _righ’ fuckin’ now_ —where me boy is, an’ wha’ the hell he’s done—“

 

“Ma,” Murphy says. Then, more loudly, “Ma!”

 

She turns her eyes on him, and they narrow to slits. “I see yer standin’, then. Good. Now, wha’ te hell is goin’ on, Murphy? What’d ye do, eh? If ye get expelled fer it, I swear te God—“

 

“Ma, stop!” Murphy says, his voice full of exasperation. At this, her eyes widen in indignation at having been interrupted, and he hurries to cut her off before she can start up again. “You’ve a meetin’ wit te president, he’ll tell ye ev’rythin’, I’m sure. C’mon.”

 

As he turns to walk to the president’s office, he hears a huff behind him, but ignores her. He waves her inside, and he can just see President Connelly behind his desk before he moves past the open door and sits back down in the nurse’s office.

 

And then he waits.

 

He can hear yelling come from the office, but no one emerges for at least a half an hour. He winces when, at last, the door opens, and his Ma’s voice comes towards him.

 

“Murphy! Get yer arse up now! We’re leavin’,” she yells, and he stands to follow her out the door.

 

They exit the school, and he can hear his Ma breathing heavily. He knows she’s barely holding on to her temper, so he leaves her be. By the time they’re halfway home, she finally breaks the silence.

 

“Yer suspended for three days, Murphy. Yer gonna clean te house from top to bottom durin’ tha’ time, make no mistake. This won’ be a vacation fer ye.”

 

Murphy nods. He was under no disillusions that he would be enjoying his punishment.

 

“I’m disappointed in ye, boyo. Ye’ve no reason to beat on a boy in te middle o’ te school day. What in hell’s gotten into ye?” she asks, her voice sharp.

 

Murphy just shrugs. He could tell her what Flaherty said, but it wouldn’t make much difference. She might be less angry with him, but he doesn’t want to tell her what the boy said about Connor. If he repeats it, he’ll probably go find Flaherty and beat him to a pulp again.

 

His Ma sighs. “Go straight home, an’ don’ leave. I’ll see ye after work,” she says, and Murphy nods again, complacent.

 

She veers off onto another street towards the pub, and Murphy now walks alone.

 

He arrives home twenty minutes later, his mind on Connor, and their relationship during the first couple of weeks after he arrived. All Murphy did was fight with him.

  
And before that, Murphy was always fighting, it seemed. After he had Connor, though, and all of his attention was focused on the boy, he was less interested in the fuckers at school. Because, despite the fact that Connor was a right pain in the arse for a while, all Murphy did was think about him, and try to get him to fit in, and stop fighting.

 

Murphy snorts as he walks upstairs to his room. Ironic, that, as he’d been the one antagonizing Connor when he first got here. After… well, when they finally got to know each other, Murphy’s mind was on more pleasurable things, and his need to fight was practically non-existent.

 

That’s all changed now, though, Murphy thinks grimly. He might as well get used to it. And his knuckles are going to be constantly sore if his pain over losing Connor doesn't lessen.

 

Judging by the fact that he can’t even think of the boy without gritting his teeth and wanting to punch something, Murphy figures that he should start waiting until after school to fight. He might not care about much right now, but the last thing he needs is to alienate the only person that really loves him: his Ma.

 

After all, he doesn’t have anyone else.

 

Sighing, Murphy sits on his bed, trying not to breathe too deeply, in fear that he’ll smell Connor if he does. Unbidden, tears come to his eyes, and he swipes them away angrily. He won’t cry over Connor. He refuses.

 

He may love his brother, but right now he hates him, too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“C’mon, Connor, ye go in first,” Joe whispers, and Connor nods, stepping into the room, his gun trained in front of him. His eyes sweep the empty room as he hears Joe, Billy, and Andrew enter behind him.

 

“Nothin’,” he sighs, and Billy chuckles.

 

“Didja expect te find ‘im on yer first try, boyo?” he asks, and Connor shrugs. He had hoped.

 

Connor is searching for Robert Berne, in an attempt to find out what it’ll take to release his Da from prison. Short of allowing him to murder a family, that is. When he’d mentioned his plan to Joe, the man had enthusiastically offered up his own skills. Connor had been surprised, but grateful for an ally.

 

Billy and Andrew had joined soon after, and now the four men are searching the places that Berne has been known to use as hideouts. Connor’s heart is heavy with disappointment that Berne is not at the first location, but he knows it’s ridiculous to imagine that they’d be so lucky as to find him on their first try.

 

The men walk back out to Joe’s car, and drive to the second location.

 

It’s going to be a long night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Six hours later, Connor and the others are out of leads. The men, exhausted, head back to the pub for one last round before turning in.

 

Connor heads to the back of the bar, but doesn't go into the usual rooms. Instead, he walks to the hallway where the bathrooms are. His mind has been preoccupied all day, what with Da and Berne, but he’s had a lingering feeling, and now he has nothing to distract himself from it.

 

He’s worried about Murph.

 

He grabs the payphone, which is anchored to the wall across from the loos, puts a few pence in, and dials his Ma’s number. It rings twice before he hears his Ma’s hoarse voice.

 

“’lo?” she croaks, and Connor can’t help but smile at the sound.

 

“Hey, Ma,” he says quietly. He realizes belatedly that it’s the first time he’s called her that, except when he’s talking to Murph. She’s never heard him say it before.

 

Annabelle inhales sharply. “Connor?”

 

“Aye, it’s me. How are ye? How’s Murphy?” Connor asks urgently.

 

She huffs. “How ‘bout let’s start wit ‘where te hell are ye’?”

 

Connor sighs. “I can’t tell ye anymore than what’s in te letter, Ma. I’m sorry. But I hope te be back soon enough.”

 

He listens as Annabelle mutters to herself. He thinks he hears ‘pissant,’ ‘shithead,’ and possibly ‘fucking inconsiderate,’ before she speaks directly to him again.

 

“Alright, boyo. ‘bout whatcha asked before, we’re both fine. Murphy got in a bit o’ trouble at school, but he’s okay,” she says, and Connor’s heart stutters in his chest.

 

“Wha’ happened?” he asks sharply.

 

“Got inte a fight wit another boy, an’ beat te shite outta him, too,” his Ma says, irritated.

 

Connor sighs. “Is ‘e hurt?”

 

“Nah. Gotta bloody lip, that’s all. Te other boy is worse off.” She sounds almost proud about this, but Connor figures he’s just hearing things. “No’ that I’m not glad te hear yer voice, Connor, but what’d ye call fer?”

 

“Jus’… wanted te check up on the two o’ ye,” Connor says lamely. He doesn’t want to talk about his and Murph’s sixth sense. Not even with their Ma. “Also, I want te give ye me number here. I don’t have a mobile, but I’m at te pub more often than anywhere else, an’ they’ll take a message fer me.”

 

“Ye sound like yer Da, givin’ me a pub’s number te reach ye.” Annabelle laughs humorlessly, and he hears her rummaging around before her voice comes back over the line. “’m ready.”

 

He gives her the number, and tells her to call if she needs help, or if there’s trouble with Murphy.

 

“Alright, boyo. He’s in his room; do ye wanna talk te him?” she offers, and Connor’s heart clenches at the thought of hearing his sweet Murph’s voice.

 

He doesn’t think Murph’s voice will be sweet for him, though. And he doesn’t want to upset him with more lies and empty promises about when he’s coming home.

 

“Nah, it’s best if I don’t,” Connor answers sadly.

 

They say their goodbyes, and Connor hangs up, his mind on his twin. He can feel Murphy’s anger and sadness. Though it could be his own despair that weighs him down, for, judging by tonight, Connor might be here longer than he’d anticipated.

 

Sighing, Connor leaves the pub to go back to Andrew’s. He needs to figure out what to do next.

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                                                                             

The next morning, Connor is awoken by a hand on his shoulder, shaking him. He jerks up, arm automatically going out to block the person from touching him. When his eyes finally focus, he sees that it’s Andrew, who has stepped back, hands raised in submission, and has a surprised look on his face.

 

Connor sighs, and runs a hand down his face wearily. “Sorry. Had a bad dream.”

 

And he had. He’d dreamt that when he got back to Cork, Murphy didn’t know who he was, or that he even had a brother. And he didn’t believe him when Connor told him. He looked at Connor with pity and turned away from him.

 

Andrew’s expression changes to one of sympathy. “D’ye wanna talk about it?”

 

Connor shakes his head. “Nah. What’s up?”

 

Andrew looks as if he’s going to push the subject, but obviously changes his mind. “Joe called, they might have a lead on Berne. We’re supposed te meet ‘im in ‘alf an hour.”

 

Connor stands quickly, not caring that he’s only in his shorts. “Let’s go, then!” He moves towards the bathroom to relieve himself, but is stopped by Andrew’s soft voice.

 

“Is everythin’… alright, Connor?” he asks hesitantly. “Ye seem like yer—I dunno—distracted, maybe? Did somethin’ happen when ye were wit yer Ma?”

 

Connor turns to him slowly, his face blank. “What d’ye know abou’ me Ma?”

 

Andres shrugs. “When ye showed up, people started askin’ questions abou’ where ye been, and they dug around a bit. Ye know we got connections in the Gardaí, Connor. Billy found out, and ‘e told me ye were wit yer Ma after Noah got locked up. Is tha’ what’s wrong? D’ye wanna go back?”

 

Connor shakes his head, impatient. “It’s not important. I’m fine. I jus’ wanna get me Da outta prison, so we can all move on.”

 

Andrew looks unconvinced, but nods anyway. Connor walks into the bathroom and closes the door. If the Gardaí are telling people where Connor was, then what’s to stop them from telling Berne?

 

Would he use Murph and Connor against Noah, to get him to talk? Connor doesn’t know much about the man’s character, but he doesn’t like what he’s learned so far: that the man is willing to kill an innocent woman and her children to get revenge against someone who’s already dead.

 

Just in case, he needs to warn Murph and Ma.

 

Connor steps out of the bathroom after taking care of business, and quickly pulls out some jeans and a jumper from his bag, which is on the floor next to the couch. He pulls on his boots, and his coat, and then he and Andrew are out the door, walking to the pub.

 

When they reach the little building, Connor tells Andrew he has to do something first, then he’ll meet him, and he receives a puzzled frown and a nod in reply. Connor moves to the payphones in the back again, and quickly dials Annabelle’s number.

 

It rings a dozen times before the machine picks up.

 

“Hi, ye’ve reached the MacManuses, Annabelle, Murphy, and Connor. Leave yer message, an’ we’ll call ye back,” Connor hears Annabelle’s voice say, and he feels a knot in his throat when he realizes that she must’ve changed it after he arrived to add his name to it.

 

God, he wants to go home.

 

He hears the beep, but hangs up, just in case the message is intercepted. He’ll just have to try again later. Maybe he can try her pub in a couple of hours.

 

Connor joins the men in the back room, trying to keep his mind on the situation at hand, and failing dismally.

 

 

 

 

A few hours later, Connor, Joe, Billy, and Andrew have found a man that knows Robert Berne, and might knows where he is, but isn’t telling.

 

When Joe starts to torture him for Berne’s whereabouts, Connor begins to think about Murphy, and what he would think of his brother now, if he saw him. Connor is willing to do whatever it takes to get his Da free, and he’s seen the dead bodies of criminals before, knowing it was his Da that sent them out of this world, so why is he having a crisis of conscience in this moment?

 

Perhaps it’s because there’s a difference between killing a man and making him suffer. He believes in his Da’s mission to rid the world of evil men, but a bullet to the head is rather humane, when compared to cutting someone with a knife, slowly, and threatening to cut his fingers off one by one. The fear is probably worse than the pain, but Connor finds himself flinching at the idea that he is willing to sit by and watch, to participate, even, if it means his Da’s freedom.

 

Connor shakes his head to clear it. He has to focus, now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Robert Berne is smoking a cigar when one of his men, Johnny, comes in with pictures for him. He indicates that Johnny should set them down on the table and leave, and he does so.

 

Berne takes a large puff and sets the cigar in the ashtray. He leans forward and picks up the pictures. In them, he sees the young MacManus kid, the one his insiders told him about. He already knew about the blonde one, but this one… this one was like a sign from God. For, though he’d always known that MacManus had a son, he’d assumed that the man still valued the job over anything.

 

They didn’t call the man Il Duce for nothing, after all.

 

But this… this proves that Noah MacManus did, in fact, hide some of his family away for protection. According to the detective who talked, this kid didn’t even know about Noah until a few weeks ago. And now the question is: would a man who was willing to live without one of his sons for his own safety, also give up anything to save that son?

 

Or, better yet, both sons?

 

Berne picks up his phone and dials. He has some planning to do.

 


	13. Chapter Thirteen—I lay down on the cold ground

Chapter Thirteen—I lay down on the cold ground

 

 

Murphy can feel them watching him.

 

He’s been running errands for his Ma all day, and he senses eyes following him wherever he goes. A couple of times, he thinks he almost catches a glimpse of them, but he never quite manages it.

 

He’s not sure what to do about it.

 

Murphy doesn’t want to tell his Ma, because on the off chance that they don’t know where she works, she could be in danger if he leads them to her. Likewise, if he calls her. She'll come rushing home, and be in a right state, possibly over nothing.

 

He doesn’t feel like it's nothing, though.

 

As Murphy walks into the convenience store around the corner from the house, he nods to the clerk, who greets him in turn. He and his Ma are regulars here, so the employees always know them on sight.

 

Murphy walks to the back of the store to get milk, his reason for stopping in. As he scans the shelves for the kind his Ma likes, he hears the bell indicating that someone else has entered the shop.

 

The hair on the back of his neck stands up, and Murphy knows this thing is finally going to come to a head. He'll figure out who the fuck is watching him, now.

 

Murphy turns slowly, and sees three men near the entrance, all large and muscled, and all staring straight at him. One of the men smirks at him, and Murphy clenches his hands into fists, crumpling the money he’s holding.

 

The man steps forward, and the two others flank him, one step back, eyeing Murphy cockily. Murph clenches his teeth in irritation. So they think he'll be an easy target, then.

 

He'll show them.

 

“What d’ye want?” Murphy bites out.

 

The man is only about a metre away now, and he stops. “We need ye te come wit us.”

 

Murphy cocks his head to the side. “An’ why would I do tha’?”

 

The men glance at each other in turn, seemingly amused. “Ye don’ have much of a choice about it, lad. It’s our job te bring ye in, an’ yer gonna whether ye want te or not.”

 

Murphy smirks. “Was it yer job te stay hidden, too? ‘cause I knew ye were followin’ me te whole fuckin’ day. If ye can't even do tha’ right, who’s te say ye can make me come wit ye?”

 

The man takes a threatening step closer, but Murphy stands his ground. His face is angry, and he looks about ready to beat Murph’s face in.

 

It’ll take more than that to scare a MacManus.

 

Suddenly, the man relaxes, and smiles maliciously at Murphy. “I tink ye will come. In fact, I reckon ye’ll be _beggin’_ us te take ye wit us in the end.”

 

Murphy heart stutters in his chest. What the fuck? He barely gets his next words out because his jaw is clenched so tightly. “What’re ye talkin’ abou’?”

 

The man’s smile stays firmly fixed as he answers. “We have yer brother. Connor, is it? Who knows what te boss has done te him by now?” He chuckles. “An’ te only way fer you te see him again is te come wit us.”

 

“Ye fuckin’ bastard!” Murphy yells before he lunges. He punches the man in the jaw before he can react, and manages to get in one more hit to his gut before he has two sets of arms wrapping around him, pulling him off. He struggles, his face red in his rage, as he tries to get free.

 

“Ye little cunt!” the man spits. He takes advantage of the fact that Murphy is being held by the other thugs, and hits him in the gut. Murphy doubles over, coughing, and tries to regain his breath.

 

“Wha’s goin’ on over there? Ye need te let te boy go, or I’ll call te police!” the clerk says, staying behind the counter so he can reach the phone.

 

The men let Murphy go, and he barely stays on his feet. He struggles upright, a hand held to his stomach, and glares at the bastards in front of him.

 

“Give me proof of wha’ ye said,” he says menacingly.

 

The man tsks, and the other two snicker at him. “I’m afraid ye’ll just have te trust us, boyo. If ye insist on makin’ trouble, I’ll have to call te boss, an he’ll make sure te take it out on yer brother. If he’s even still alive, that is.”

 

Murphy’s heart clenches in his chest. What the fuck is he supposed to do? Do these men really have Connor? If they do, they’ll be torturing him; they may even kill him.

 

He can’t bring himself to accept that possibility, but also can’t stand by and do nothing. If his surrender will bring him to Connor, no matter how slim the chance is that they’re telling the truth, Murphy has to do it. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if something happened to Connor.

 

He wouldn’t want to live if something happened to Connor.

 

Murphy stands ramrod straight, his whole body tense, as he nods to the men. The two henchmen step forward and grab for his arms, but he jerks away. “I can walk by me fuckin’ self,” he says, and moves into the other man’s face. The man sneers at him, and Murphy stares him down stoically. “I jus’ want ye to know… no matter how this turns out, whether yer tellin’ te truth or not… I’m gonna kill ye. Mine will be te last face ye’ll see, and I’ll smile as I put a bullet in yer head.”

 

The man’s eyes widen before they darken in anger, and he turns away from Murphy, leading the way out of the store, the clerk watching their progression onto the street.

 

A hand is placed on Murphy’s head as he is forced into a car, and he doesn't even struggle. His mind is too full of fear for his twin to even bother with the effort.

 

He’ll need all of his strength later, no matter what happens next.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Connor gets back to the pub that night, still feeling off. The man had never given Berne up, and Joe put a bullet in his brain. Today, the five men had been trying out different leads.

 

They still haven’t found the bastard.

 

Connor had felt uneasy as soon as he’d woken up this morning, and the feeling hadn’t gone away. He’d tried calling Annabelle again, but hadn’t reached her at home. It’d been too early to try her pub this morning, but now it’s nearing four o’clock, and he’s finally back where there’s a phone.

 

He walks towards the payphones, but is stopped by Marie, who is calling his name.

 

“Aye?” he asks impatiently.

 

“Ye had a woman call fer ye, jus’ a few minutes ago. Sounded urgent,” she replies.

 

Connor’s blood runs cold, and he knows that this is why he’s been feeling so anxious. “Did she say where I can reach ‘er?” he asks quickly, and she shakes her head.

 

He doesn't wait around to ask any more questions. He just runs.

 

Connor picks up the payphone and dials the pub where his Ma works. It’s answered by a man who Connor suspects it Sibeal.

 

“’ello?”

 

“Is Annabelle workin’ tonight?” Connor asks without preamble.

 

The man sighs. “Nah, she went ‘ome. Who’s this?”

 

Connor hangs up without answering, and dials home.

 

“’ello? Connor?” His Ma’s urgent voice comes over the line.

 

“Ma, what is it? Wha’s wrong? Is it Murphy?” Connor speaks so fast, he’s surprised she can understand him.

 

“Connor! Thank the Lord! Yer brother’s gone, ye have te get ‘im back!” She cries loudly, her voice shaky.

 

Connor’s stomach plummets. “Where is ‘e?”

 

“I don’ know! I was workin’, and I got a call from te man tha’ works at te convenience store down the road. ‘e said that three men came in, an’ there was a fight. After, they took Murphy outside and put ‘im in a car. I don’ know where ‘e is, Connor! Please, ye have te find ‘im!”

 

Connor is about to answer, to try to calm her or something, when Marie peeks her head around the corner.

 

“Connor? Ye got another call.”

 

The blonde shakes his head at her and points to the phone in his hand. “I’m busy. Can ye take a message?”

 

Marie’s face is anxious as she answers. “I tink ye’ll be wantin’ te take this one, lad.”

 

Connor’s heart pounds in his chest as he realizes that this might be the call that tells him where his Murph is. He takes in a deep breath, trying to calm his voice. “Ma, listen, I’ll call later, alrigh’? I tink I might be able te find Murphy.”

 

“Please, Connor! Let me know when ye find ‘im,” she replies, her voice strained.

 

He nods, though she can’t see him. “Aye, of course I will. Bye.” He hangs up, and strides to Marie, who turns to lead the way to the bar.

 

She hands him the receiver, and he places it to his ear, his entire body taut as a wire.

 

“Aye, this is Connor MacManus.”

 

A chuckle answers him. “Connor. I’m so pleased te talk to ye. I have yer brother here. He’s a lovely boy, I must say.”

 

Connor’s hands clench, and he can feel his fingernails pierce the skin of his palms. “If ye touch ‘im, I’ll kill ye,” he replies, deadly calm.

 

The man laughs again, clearly amused. “I have no doubt tha’ you’ll try, lad. Bu’ ye’ll have te find me first. Would ye like te know where I am?”

 

Connor forces his jaw to unclench so he can answer. “Tell me.”

 

“First thing’s first, my boy. If ye tell anyone, I’ll know, an’ yer brother dies. If anyone follows ye, yer brother dies. If ye come in, guns blazin’… yer brother dies. Understan’?”

 

“Aye,” Connor replies shortly.

 

“Good boy. Come to the docks on South Street. The old warehouse across from the old post office. Ye know te one?”

 

“Aye. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

 

“I’m lookin’ forward te meetin’ ye, Connor,” he hears before he hangs up. He runs a hand through his hair agitatedly.

 

Then he makes for the door.

 

Before he can leave, someone blocks his path. It’s Andrew.

 

“Connor? Are ye alrigh’?” he asks, hand coming out to grasp Connor’s arm.

 

The blonde jerks back before the man can touch him. “I’m fine. Get outta me fuckin’ way, I got somewhere te be,” he replies angrily. He doesn’t have time for this.

 

Andrew is taken aback, but recovers quickly. His brow furrows in concern. “Do ye need any help?”

 

Connor shakes his head, before physically shoving past the man. “No.”

 

He’s out the door before Andrew can reply, his thoughts only of Murphy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Connor arrives at the warehouse seven minutes later, having run the whole way. He was only a few blocks away, but he’s panting by the time he stops.

 

His body is drenched in sweat from fear and exertion, and he places his hands on his knees, breathing deeply for just a moment. Then he stands, and makes his way towards the door.

 

When he enters, he sees three men with guns pointed at him, and another, older man, who is smiling benignly at him. Connor guesses this is Berne.

 

“Hand over yer gun, lad, there’s a good boy. Then we’ll take ye te see yer brother,” Berne says.

 

Connor slowly pulls his gun out and places it on the ground, glaring fiercely at the man. He ignores the others in the room, who move forward and grab Connor’s arms. One of them picks up his gun and pockets it.

 

“Take ‘im te the room. I wanna talk te him before we give him what he wants,” Berne says, and Connor starts to struggle, but can’t get out of the grip that holds him.

 

“Ye fuckin’ bastard! Let Murphy go, ye don’ need ‘im. He has nothin’ te do with this! I’ll do wha’ever ye want!” Connor yells, and the man chuckles.

 

“I don’ think so, Connor. Yer father will be even more persuaded by the threat against the innocent one of his boys, I tink. Take ‘im and restrain ‘im. I’ll join ye shortly,” he says, and Connor is dragged to an adjoining room, kicking and screaming all the way.

 

The men force him into a chair, and proceed to tie him into it. He tries to get free, but can’t. His arms and legs are restrained, and all he can do is move his head. The men leave the room, and when Berne enters a few minutes later, Connor is no longer struggling.

 

He’s not going to show any weakness to this man.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Murphy is climbing the walls. Not literally, of course. But he’s so fucking wired that he feels like his skin is moving.

 

He doesn’t know what’s going on, and it’s driving him crazy. He hasn’t seen Connor, and doesn’t know if he’s okay. He hasn’t been spoken to since the fuckers drove him up to Dublin, forced him into a small room in an abandoned warehouse, and locked the door.

 

When he gets out of this, they’re all going to fucking pay.

 

Murphy paces back and forth, thinking about Connor. He knows why the boy left now, he thinks. If this is what his brother was afraid would happen, then Murphy can understand why he’d leave without his twin, and even sick his Ma on Murphy.

 

Connor was afraid for him.

 

Of course, he’s not sure about this. It’s possible that Connor simply grew tired of him. Maybe he just missed Dublin and those fucking pedos that he used to be with.

 

Murphy grimaces as his mind wanders down dark roads. He wrenches his mind back to the present.

 

If his brother did leave simply to keep him safe, then there’s a small, indignant part of him that chafes at the idea of being treated like a dame that needs protecting. The other, much larger, part is simply ecstatic that Connor might still love him.

 

Shaking his head, Murphy focuses on the room he’s in. It’s made of cinderblocks, and the door is steel. If he has any chance of escaping, it’ll be when one of the assholes opens it.  Maybe he can pretend to be sick and lure one in?

 

He could always hide in the corner, and jump on whoever is dumb enough to peek in.

 

Murphy sits down, and waits for the opportunity for escape to present itself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An hour or more passes. Connor isn’t sure, exactly. All he knows is pain, both inside and out.

 

Berne has spent the time explaining to Connor what he’ll do to Murphy if their father doesn’t come through. And then he beats him until Connor is bleeding from more places than he can count.

 

His lip is split, and he thinks a few of his teeth are loose. His cheekbones are both swollen, as is his left eye. He’s pretty sure a few of his ribs are cracked. He knows his right wrist is broken.

 

He’s hauled up out of the chair by two of Berne’s henchman, and he hears the bastard give them an order, but he can’t hear it through the ringing in his ears. He’s being drug from the room, but can’t focus his eyes to see where he’s going.

 

The next thing Connor knows, he’s being thrown onto the floor face first, and he hears the creaking of a large door slamming behind him. He whimpers as he tries to take in a deep breath, the pain in his ribs making it difficult to move.

 

Connor hears footsteps approach, and he automatically tenses his body, though this just causes the pain to spread more rapidly. Then he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder, and a soft voice whisper, “Con? God, wha’ did they do to ye?”

 

Connor gasps as he recognizes his beloved brother’s voice. His sweet Murph is here, just like Berne said. Is he hurt?

 

“Murph?” he croaks. He tries to lift his head, but his twin’s hand presses down on his shoulders as the boy scoots forward, sliding his hips under Connor’s head so he can rest on him. Connor relaxes his head on Murphy’s thighs, face down, and closes his eyes, breathing slow and shallow.

 

Murphy’s fingers thread through Connor’s sweat-damp hair, trying to soothe him. Connor breathes in his brother’s scent, trying to hold in his tears.

 

“Murph, are ye alrigh’?”

 

He hears the raven-haired boy laugh humorlessly. “Yer askin’ me? Have ye seen yerself, Con?”

 

“Don’ worry abou’ me, I’ll be fine. Did they do anythin’ to ye?” Connor persists.

 

Murphy sighs sadly. “No, Con. They only did this to ye. They didn’ touch me.”

 

Connor’s body relaxes minutely, and he focuses on the feeling of Murphy’s fingers rubbing his scalp. It helps to distract him from the pain.

 

“Wha’ do they want?” Murphy whispers.

 

Connor opens his eyes, and struggles to sit up so he can see his brother. Murphy seems like he’s going to stop him at first, but ends up helping him. He braces his hands on Connor’s shoulders and aids him in lifting his torso off the ground.

 

Connor shifts to sit on the floor, and meets Murphy’s eyes, trying to keep the painful grimace off of his face. Murphy can obviously read him too well, though, because he winces in sympathy.

 

“Christ, brother. Ye’ve been through the ringer,” Murphy says. Connor smiles at him, though the action pulls on his split lip.

 

“Yeah,” he replies. He takes a moment to look at his beautiful brother, checking him over for injuries. Murphy has shadows under his eyes, but he seems unharmed.

 

Murphy takes in Connor’s beaten body, wanting so badly to kill the fuckers who did this to him. He can’t stand not being able to _do_ something, and he hates even more that he doesn’t know how to help his brother.

 

“Why are we here, Con?” he asks again. Connor sighs, and holds his gaze as he answers.

 

“The man, Robert Berne, wants somethin’ from Da. Information abou’ where a family is that Da saved. He wants retribution for the killin’ of ‘is own family. Thing is, they’re innocen’, an’ Da won’ give ‘em up,” Connor explains.

 

“Shite,” Murphy breathes. “The bastard’s usin’ ye te get te Da?”

 

Connor eyes him with mild shock on his face. “They're usin’ both of us, Murph.”

 

Murphy shrugs. He knows they’d taken him for that end, but he’s also aware that it’s Connor that’ll convince their Da to cooperate. He doesn’t even know Murphy.

 

“Murph,” Connor says slowly. “Do ye think Ma loves me any less than she loves you?”

 

The boy’s eyes widen in surprise. “O’ course not! Ye don’ think tha’ do ye?”

 

Connor shakes his head. “I think ye have a bond wit her tha’ I don’, fer obvious reasons, but no. She loves me te same. Why would ye think Da would be any diff’rent?”

 

Murphy is silent, taking this in. He studies his hands as he thinks. He’s never met Noah MacManus, it’s true. But if someone held the man hostage, and asked something of Murphy to save him… Murphy knows he would do whatever he could to help him.

 

The man is his Da.

 

Murphy looks up when Connor reaches out and clasps his hand firmly. He meets his twin’s eyes, and sees only love there. Murphy’s breath catches in his throat, and he looks away.

 

“Why’d ye leave me, Con? If ye didn’ wan’ me wit ye, ye coulda jus’ told me,” Murphy says quietly. He pulls his hand away from Connor, careful not to hurt the boy.

 

Connor’s face falls. “Oh, no, Murph, ye got it wrong. I wanted ye here. I was just so fuckin’ scared.” Murphy watches him, silently waiting. Connor sighs. “I grew up ‘ere,” he continues quietly. “ I know how dangerous t’is, an’ I couldn’ risk yer life. I knew ye’d be mad, bu’ I’d rather have ye hate me than have ye hurt. Yer te most importan’ person in me life, Murph.” Connor’s voice is so soft that Murphy has to strain to hear him. “If somethin’ happened to ye…”

 

Connor’s breath catches, and he breaks their eye contact to close his eyes and lower his head. Murphy is still, reading the fear on Connor’s face, and realizes that his twin is making no effort to hide his emotions. His heart clenches for his brother, and he moves forward until he’s directly in front of him.

 

“Con?” The blonde raises his eyes slowly, meeting Murphy’s steady gaze.

 

“Aye, Murph?” he whispers.

 

“I fergive ye,” Murphy replies. “I was pissed as hell, an’ hurt, an’ afraid tha’ ye didn’ love me anymore, but… I know why ye left. An’ I can’t honestly say that I wouldn’t ‘ave done te same if I were in yer position. There’s more important tings than me anger. We might no’ make it outta here, an’ I couldn’t…” A sob breaks his voice. “I would never fegive myself if ye never knew tha’ I love ye, an’ I fergive ye.”

 

Connor’s eyes are brimming over, and a tear falls as he leans forward to rest his forehead against Murphy’s. “Thank ye,” he whispers. Murphy nods against him.

 

The raven-haired boy presses his lips to Connor’s softly, careful not to hurt him. It’s just a pressing of lips, really, a chance to taste his beloved brother, and to feel him. Connor sighs against him, and raises a hand to run his fingers through Murphy’s hair again.

 

Murphy reaches forward to grasp Connor’s other hand, but stops abruptly when the boy lets out a gasp of pain. He pulls back quickly and is shocked at how pale his brother has become. He’s breathing heavily and clutching his hand to his chest.

 

“Con? Wha’s wrong?” he asks urgently.

 

Connor shakes his head, jaw clenched. He breathes for a minute, visibly calming himself. “The bastards… broke me wrist,” he says haltingly.

 

Murphy’s hands clench into fists, fury racing through his body. Frustration follows, as he still can’t do anything about Connor’s pain.

 

He just wants to kill all of those motherfuckers.

 

Connor reaches out with his good hand and grasps his brother’s shoulder. He can see the turmoil in Murphy’s eyes, and it kills him that it’s his doing. He just wants to make it right again.

 

Murphy gives him a strained smile, and kisses his forehead, before turning his body around so his back is against the wall. Connor looks at him, and Murphy opens his arms in invitation.

 

Connor’s heart clenches at the thought of being surrounded by his Murph again. He doesn’t hesitate to shift around awkwardly with his left hand, unbalanced because his ribs are still fucking killing him, and move back into Murph’s embrace.

 

Murphy’s arms wrap around the blonde brother’s shoulders carefully, and he makes sure not to add any weight to the boy’s ribs. Connor rests his head back against his twin’s shoulder, and he closes his eyes in bliss.

 

So this is what heaven feels like, he thinks.

 

Murphy presses his nose into Connor’s hair and inhales his lover’s earthy scent. A wave of relief and joy passes over him, despite their desperate situation.

 

This is a close to heaven as you get on Earth, he thinks.

 

Connor and Murphy fall asleep that way, and they both dream of being home again, safe and together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you have a moment, I love reviews :)


	14. Chapter Fourteen- I pray that someone picks me up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who's read, reviewed, or bookmarked this fic. I'm a new writer, and the feedback is so important to me. You have no idea how much all of your kind words mean to me.
> 
> There are about 4 chapter left after this one, and then the story will come to an end. I only hope I can finish it off in a way worthy of it's readers.
> 
> Thank you again!

Chapter Fourteen- I pray that someone picks me up

 

 

Connor wakes slowly, oddly comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time. He hurts everywhere, his body aching and sore; but he’s lying against something warm and solid, comforting, and he unconsciously moves back against it. The thing he’s lying against holds him tightly, and as he shifts, it pulls him in more closely.

 

Connor opens his eyes and is met with a dark room. But behind him…

 

There’s Murph.

 

He turns his head to the side and meets Murphy’s eyes. The steady blue is watching him with love and concern, and Connor feels as if his heart might burst with happiness.

 

Then he remembers where they are. He faces forward, and despair starts to edge into his mind, but he pushes it away. They can’t afford to be fatalistic at a time like this.

 

Connor turns back to his brother. Murph is still watching him, and Connor smiles slightly, the skin of his lip pulling and hurting the split there. Murphy squeezes Connor tighter where his arms are wrapped around his twin’s shoulders, and Connor leans his head back so it’s resting on the raven-haired boy’s shoulder.

 

“How’re ye feelin’?” Murph whispers. Connor shrugs, which causes his ribs to twinge in pain. He grimaces unintentionally. “Shite, Con. How’re we gettin’ outta this?”

 

Connor shakes his head delicately. “We’re not, I expect. Tink Da’s gonna be te one te get us.”

 

Murphy nods slowly. He’d figured as much, what with the fucking steel door and Connor being incapacitated.

 

“How can I help ye, Con?” Murphy focuses his attention on something that he can control: his brother’s pain. If he can help him hurt less, then at least he’s doing _something_.

 

“Don’t tink there’s much te be done, honestly.” Connor hesitates slightly. “Bu’ there is one thing, if it weren’t too much trouble.”

 

“Anythin’,” Murphy replies eagerly.

 

Connor looks almost sheepish as he answers. “Ye could tell me tha’ ye fergive me again. Ye do, don’ ye, Murph? Ye weren’t jus’ sayin’ it?”

 

The hope and fear in Connor’s eyes almost breaks Murphy’s heart more thoroughly than Connor himself did when he left. Murphy can’t stand the thought of causing his brother more pain.

 

“O’ course I do, Con,” Murphy replies softly, honestly. “I was hurt, but I know why ye did what ye did. It’s forgotten.”

 

Connor closes his eyes and nods slowly, a smile almost visible on his face. Murphy can’t help himself. He leans forward and pressed his lips to Connor’s cheek.

 

His brother’s eyes open in surprise, and he gazes at Murphy with such adoration that it causes his heart to stutter in his chest. He kisses Connor’s brow, then the eye that isn’t swollen shut. He feels his twin sigh against him, and hugs him more tightly.

 

Connor opens his eyes again, and meets Murphy halfway when the boy leans in to kiss his lips. He opens his mouth against Murphy’s ministrations, and the boy’s tongue enters Connor’s mouth readily.

 

Murph’s sweetness invades Connor’s senses, and he can barely breathe under the weight of his relief. He presses forward as far as his damaged ribs will allow, urging the kiss to continue. One of Murph’s hands comes up from where it’s resting on Connor’s chest, and pushes his brother’s blonde hair away from his face. Murphy’s fingers thread through Connor’s hair, and he’s pulled even more closely, though he’s handled gently.

 

Murphy’s hand releases his hair, and Connor revels in his brother’s touch as the hand slowly travels down the side of his face, cupping his cheek before sliding down to rest on his neck protectively, possessively.

 

Connor sighs into Murphy’s mouth happily. He can’t think about the situation they’re in. He just wants to kiss Murph, to feel him, and know that he’s forgiven.

 

He uses his love for Murph as a shield, to block out the awful things around them.

 

Murphy, who is still exploring Connor’s mouth with his tongue, basking in his brother’s intoxicating scent, does the same.

 

There’s the sound of a key turning in the steel door and the boys spring apart reflexively. Connor grits his teeth hard against the pain this causes in his ribs and wrist. Fuck, that hurts.

 

Murphy watches him and the door in turn, worry creasing his brow. When the door opens, and Berne steps through, Murphy stands abruptly, and blocks Connor from view. The blonde is leaning against the wall, which is where he’d ended up when they’d pulled apart. He gazes up at the back of Murphy’s lean body and shivers. He should be up, too.

 

Connor starts to struggle to stand, but Murphy’s sharp voice stills him. “Stay te fuck down, Con.”

 

Murphy never takes his eyes off of the man before him, but he knew when Connor started to stand, because he knows his other half, and his noble intentions.

  
Connor may want to protect him, but maybe it’s Murph’s turn to be the heroic one.

 

“What te fuck do ye want?” Murphy spits, and Berne chuckles.

 

“No need te get so testy, sonny. I jus’ want a picture.”

 

There are at least six thugs behind Berne, and he waves at one of them to hand him a camera, which is firmly encased in his grip.

 

Berne indicates for another of the men to bring forward a newspaper, and the rest of them to walk toward the brothers. Murphy widens his stance protectively. “Stay away from ‘im!” he yells, and the man closest to him hesitates.

 

“He’s just a boy, Theodore, are ye honestly afraid of a boy?” Berne taunts, and the man’s—Theodore’s—face darkens in anger. He tries to push past Murphy to get to Connor, and is completely taken aback when he finds himself flat on his back, his head aching from a punch to the jaw.

 

The fucking kid can hit, that’s for sure.

 

Murphy adjusts his stance back in front of his brother, ready for the next thug.

 

Berne’s eyes are comically wide for a moment before he pulls himself together. “Stop, stop!” The thugs turn to face him, but each keeps an eye on Murphy as well. “Murphy, can ye help yer brother stand?”

 

Murphy glares at the man, and doesn’t answer.

 

“I will tell my men te get him themselves if ye don’t answer,” Berne presses, and Murphy sneers at him.

 

“Jus’ fuckin’ try it, cocksucker,” he says maliciously, and he takes a half-step back, closer to his twin.

 

Berne shakes his head in exasperation. “Yer bravado ain’t gonna do much good against a gun, boyo.” Murphy pales. “Now, I jus need a picture of te two of ye wit this newspaper, so yer Da can see tha’ yer alive, alrigh’? Help me out, and I won’ have te hurt yer brother.”

 

Murphy’s eyes are blazing in fury, but he nods reluctantly. He moves to the side, so he’s next to Connor, and kneels.

 

Connor looks at him, worry and pain creasing his brow. “They can take te fuckin’ picture here. I’m not movin’ him,” Murphy says to Berne, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of Connor. He hears a grunt, then the fucker is moving towards them as one of the thugs hands the newspaper over.

 

Murphy grabs it, and sits beside Connor, who reaches his good hand up to hold the other side of it. The newspaper is in full view, so Berne takes the picture, then motions for the men to leave. All but one does. That one stays right behind Berne, as if he’s his personal bodyguard.

 

Berne smirks down at them malevolently. “I know ye think ye jus’ got some kinda victory here, boyo, but te truth is… I jus’ don’ care about ye. Yer Da is gonna tell me what I wanna know, and then I’m gonna get him outta prison, jus’ like I promised, ‘cause I’m a man o’ me word. As a bonus, he’ll get te two o’ ye as well, safe an’ sound. An’ then I’ll finally have me revenge.”

 

With that, he leaves the room, the other man on his heels.

 

Murphy pulls Connor over gently, so that the blonde is resting his head on Murph’s shoulder. Connor sighs. “I hate this.”

 

Murphy rests his cheek against the top of Connor’s head. “I know, Con. I do, too.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

A week passes, at least. Connor tries to keep track of the days, but they seem to slip through his fingers like sand. They all blend together, as there are no windows in the room they’re locked in, and it’s impossible for the boys to tell night from day.

 

The only things to break up the monotony are the meals, meager as they may be.

 

Connor and Murphy eat cold porridge on what they think is the eighth day, and gaze at each other wordlessly as they communicate. They don’t need words, they’ve found, now that they can’t be distracted by sex and other activities. Murphy finds that he can read all of Connor’s expressions, and he knows what he’s thinking more often than not.

 

There’s an innate knowledge that lies deep in their subconscious. It’s as if they have one soul, but two bodies. Murphy realizes that a few weeks ago this would have frightened him, but now he feels as if he is finally complete.

 

He’s found his other half.

 

Connor raises an eyebrow at the food before him, and Murphy smirks.

 

_This food is fuckin’ awful. If they want to kill us, why don’ they just do it humanely, at least?_

_Very fuckin’ funny. But yer right, it’s pure shite._

 

The door opens, breaking off the silent communication, and Murphy looks up to see an older man with white hair and a beard stride into the room. His breath catches as Connor looks over and cries out, “Da!”

 

Connor stands slowly. His ribs haven’t really improved, as they were never wrapped properly, but he’s learned to manage the pain better. Noah walks closer to his injured son, and places a hand on his shoulder as he looks into his eyes.

 

“Are ye alrigh’, boyo?” Connor nods, a bit taken aback. He’s never seen his Da look so worried.

 

Noah looks up, into the eyes of his other son, Murphy. Awe fills him as he takes in the boy’s dark hair, and pale face. He’s almost fae, the boy is so fair. He looks a bit like his mother, he thinks. He nods to Murphy, who is still seated, and turns back to Connor. He still can't believe that his son is almost as tall as he is, now.

 

He just keeps getting older.

 

“We’ve gotta leave, boys.” He looks to Murphy. “I called yer Ma, let ‘er know yer both alive, but she wants ye both te call ‘er when we leave.”

 

Murphy nods at him, and stands from where he was eating his breakfast. He brushes his pants off for no other reason than to keep his mind busy. He’s so filthy that a dusting isn’t gonna do much but move the dirt around.

 

“Where’s Berne?” Connor asks, and Noah eyes blaze fiercely.

 

“I told ‘im what ‘e wanted to know. I didn’ have a choice if I wanted te see the two o’ ye again,” he replies. Connor’s mouth opens in shock.

 

“Ye told ‘im _before_ ye saw us? Fer all ye know, he coulda killed us after he took te picture he showed ye!” Connor replies indignantly.

 

Noah’s eyes burn with fury, but not at Connor. “It was a chance I had te take. Ye’ll understand if ever yer a father, Connor. Now, C’mon, let’s go. We gotta lot o’ things te do ‘fore we can stop te bastard.”

 

Murphy’s eyes bulge out slightly as he walks closer to the others. “Stop ‘im?”

 

Noah nods, and smiles unkindly. Murphy doesn't know the man, but he can feel that the anger he’s resonating is aimed at Berne. “Aye. Ye don’ think I can just let ‘im kill an innocent woman and children, do ye?”

 

Murphy shrugs carelessly. “I don’ know what te expect of ye, seein’ as how I’ve only jus’ met ye.”

 

Noah’s face becomes blank, and Murphy is struck by his resemblance to Connor. “Righ’. Yer righ’.” He blinks, and tightens his grip on Connor’s shoulder. “C’mon, follow me.”

 

The boys walk behind their Da through the warehouse. He has his gun drawn, and Murphy wonders at how natural the object looks in the man’s hand. He’d expected to feel fear, and awe perhaps, when he first saw his Da.

 

But he only feels resentment, and a bit of gratitude.

 

After all, if it weren’t for Noah, they wouldn’t have been taken in the first place. But he can’t find it in himself to be angry that Noah wouldn’t give up the location of innocents. Instead, he’s irritated at the man’s entire lifestyle. He’s a killer, plain and simple. He may have a good cause, but he still wanders through the dark underbelly of society, and Murphy knows it’s his fault that Connor is still limping in pain.

 

And he doesn’t know how long it’ll take to forgive him for abandoning Murphy. Not to mention taking Connor away from him. The man took away Murphy’s other half, and they were both forced to grow up alone.

 

For the first time, Murphy wonders at how Connor managed to forgive their Ma.

 

Noah leads them out of the warehouse, to a car parked at the kerb. Connor walks to the passenger side, and start to climb in the back, but Murphy stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

 

_Yer hurt. Let me._

 

Connor nods, and Murphy climbs into the backseat. The blonde pushes the seat into place, and then sits down in the front. Noah takes the driver’s seat and starts the car, then pulls away from the kerb.

 

Connor watches the outside world as his Da drives. It’s a relief to breathe the fresh air again. He has the window rolled down, and his hair whips around his eyes from the speed of the car. It’s so fucking refreshing.

 

They turn down a familiar street, and Connor has a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Where’re we goin’ Da?”

 

“I asked Andrew te let us use his place as a hideout ‘til we strike out. Ye remember Andrew, dontcha, son?” Noah asks.

 

Connor can feel Murphy’s tension, though the boys aren’t touching, or even looking at each other. He doesn’t think he ever said Andrew’s name when he told his twin about the man, but that doesn’t mean that Murphy can’t read Connor’s apprehension and guess.

 

“Aye, Da. I remember ‘im.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

They arrive at Andrew’s a couple of minutes later. His Da parks the car—it’s Joe’s; he must’ve picked Da up from prison when Berne got him released—a couple of streets away, and they walk back. Murphy is on Connor’s left side, supporting him.

 

They arrive at the front door and knock. Andrew answers the door, and his brow furrows when he sees that Connor is being physically supported. He reaches out for Connor, who jerks back, though the motion causes him pain.

 

And that’s all the confirmation that Murphy needs. He knows now that this is one of the men who’d been with his Connor. He glares at the fucker before him, daring him to touch his brother. Andrew’s eyes widen, and he steps back, allowing the three of them to enter.

 

Connor puts his arm across Murph’s shoulders, silently asking the boy to wait before freaking out. He just needs time to explain.

 

Murphy watches the paedophile as he enters, making sure the arsewipe is across the room as he lowers Connor down to the couch. Andrew watches Connor with concern, and looks as if he wants to say something, but doesn’t because Murphy looks as if he wants to kill him.

 

Connor tries very hard not to laugh at the fact that his sheltered twin can scare a trained killer.

 

“Well. I’ll jus’ leave ye to it. I’ll be in me room if ye need anythin’,” Andrew says. He receives a nod from Noah, but nothing from the boys. He leaves the room, closing his door behind him.

 

Murphy sits next to Connor on the couch, and Noah watches them cautiously. “What’d they do te ye, Connor? Murphy, are ye hurt, too?”

 

“Jus’ knocked me around a bit, Da. Bruised a few ribs, ye know. Nothin’ too bad.” Connor glances at Murphy.

 

_Don’t tell him the truth. If he goes on this mission alone, he might not come back._

 

Murphy looks to his Da. “No, I’m no’ hurt.”

 

Noah looks relieved, and he offers them a half-hearted smile. “Do ye wanna wash up? Andrew’s got a bathroom ye can use. Connor, I could help ye if yer too sore.”

 

Murphy stands without thinking, and places himself in front of Connor. “I’ll help ‘im.” He turns his back on Noah so he can focus on his brother. “C’mon, Con.”

 

Murphy places a hand under each of Connor’s arms and lifts. Connor stands and walks with Murphy to the bathroom. “Be out in a bit, Da,” he mutters, and Noah nods before making his way into the kitchen to fix the boys something to eat.

 

He hopes that Murphy likes the same things as Connor.

 

In the bathroom, Connor sits on the toilet lid, his right arm wrapped protectively around his ribs. His right wrist is cradled against his body. Murphy locks the door before standing in front of his brother, his gaze irritated.

 

“I’m sorry, Murph. I had no idea tha’ we’d come here,” Connor whispers. Murph shifts to turn the bath on so as to drown out their voices, then moves back.

 

“Bu’ ye’ve seen ‘im since ye go’ back te the city, aye?” It’s not really a question, because Murphy already knows the answer. Anger tenses his body anyway when Connor nods.

 

“Aye,” Connor whispers. “I’ve been stayin’ here, Murph.”

 

Murphy’s heart clenches in pain, and he sits abruptly on the edge of the tub.

 

“No’ like tha’!” Connor protests loudly. He quickly lowers his voice. “I only slept ‘ere at first, ‘cause he was supposed te be outta town, but ‘e came back. I stayed on te couch, Murph, and _nothin’_ happened. Ye hafta believe me.”

 

Connor’s eyes are pleading and vulnerable, and Murphy has to look away. He studies his hands, and nods.

 

“He’s one of ‘em, aye? One o’ them paedos that touched ye? That…” Murphy’s expression is pained, and he looks back into Connor’s eyes.

 

Connor is taken aback at the raw agony there. He knows that Murphy hates who he was with before, not just because he’s Murphy’s now, but because of the age difference. Apparently, it’s eating at his brother more that he’d known, because Murphy looks desperate to do something, anything, to make all of this better.

 

But Connor doesn’t know how to make it better. He meets Murphy’s eyes again.

 

_I’m sorry._

 

Murphy gives him a half-hearted smirk.

 

_I know, ye fucker._

 

And then Murphy kisses him.

 

Connor sighs into the kiss, relieved. He hasn’t had his brother’s lips on his for a week, now. Murph was too afraid of hurting him. But his lip has healed, and his twin takes full advantage of it.

 

Murphy presses harder against his lips, and Connor opens his mouth to let his twin’s tongue in. Murphy gasps, and Connor moans as they taste each other again. It hasn’t been that long since they last did this, but it feels like a lifetime.

 

Murphy’s hands move to the hem of Connor’s shirt, and he lifts it until it’s bunched up under the blonde’s arms. He breaks the kiss so he can focus on getting the shirt off gently, so as not to exacerbate Connor’s injuries.

 

“Skin, I wanna feel yer skin,” Murphy mutters, and Connor smiles at him, lifting his arms slowly so Murphy can pull the shirt off, one sleeve at a time. At last, Murphy pulls the shirt gently off, over Connor’s head, and throws it on the ground.

 

Murphy gracefully pulls off his own shirt, and it joins Connor’s. They take a moment to look at each other.

 

The raven-haired boy keeps the sadness off of his face, as much as he can manage. Connor is covered in colors: purple and blue, green and yellow. The fucker did a number on him. Connor uses his good hand to lift Murphy’s chin up so he can see his eyes.

 

“I’ve missed ye, Murph,” Connor whispers, and Murphy can’t even find it in himself to point out that it was Connor who left, because he’s honestly not angry anymore.

 

“Same here, brother,” he answers, and they press their lips together again briefly, sweetly. “Get in te bath, Con. I’ll join ye.”

 

Connor’s eyes light up, and he stands slowly, hands going to his belt. He undoes the clasp and then works on the button of his trousers. Murphy takes over from there, kneeling before his brother as he slides the pants off of his slim hips. Next, Murphy pulls Connor’s shorts down, and the boy’s half-interested cock is exposed. He leans forward and places a small kiss on the tip, and he laughs when Connor groans.

 

“Yer pure evil, Murph,” he mutters.

 

Murphy giggles again, and stands to make himself as naked as his brother. He helps Connor into the water, and then climbs in behind him. His torso cradles Connor’s, and the blonde rests his head against Murph’s shoulder, reminiscent of how they sat in the warehouse.

 

But they don’t want to think of that now.

 

Murphy picks up the sponge from the side of the tub, and lathers it up with soap. He lowers it to Connor’s chest and, as gently as he can manage, starts to clean him. He’s careful of the bruises, and any winces that Connor makes are quickly soothed by kisses and light touches.

 

Murphy strokes Connor’s arms until they’re clean, and then moves on to his legs. He can’t reach farther than his thighs, so he makes sure to clean them thoroughly.

 

Connor’s head falls back at the gentle stroking around his groin, and he moans against Murphy’s skin, where his face is pressed to the side of Murph’s neck. He kisses his brother’s pulse point, and feels Murph shiver.

 

Murphy finally, _finally_ , rubs where Connor wants him to, and the sponge has a strange, pleasurable texture that make Connor as hard as a rock in little more than a second. He thrusts up shallowly against Murphy’s ministrations, and the raven-haired boy’s lust finally gets the best of him.

 

Murphy drops the sponge, and wraps his hand around Connor’s prick, stroking firmly from the bottom to the top and down again. Connor arches slightly, and kisses the side of Murphy’s neck distractedly as his brother continues pumping up and down.

 

The pleasure spiking through Connor’s body, radiating from his core, is spreading though his limbs, and he can’t even think because he’s so fucking ecstatic that he and Murph are here, together, and in each other’s arms. He feels his orgasm coming, and groans Murph’s name in warning as he shoots his load into the water. His body falls back against his brother, completely spent.

 

A moment passes, and then Murphy chuckles, before shutting off the tap.

 

“Wha’?” Connor mutters sluggishly.

 

“Fuckin’ gross, tha’s what. We’re swimmin’ in yer come,” Murphy replies, disgust coloring his voice. Then he laughs again.

 

Connor joins him, and he turns his head to kiss along Murphy’s jawline. Murphy tips his head so they’re lips can meet, while his hand searches behind him for the plug.

 

The tub starts to drain, and Connor breaks the kiss. “At least now they’ll think we took separate baths,” he whispers, and Murphy smirks at him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The boys come back into the living room just as their Da is plating sandwiches for them. He pours beer into two glasses and places them on the table in front of the couch, and watches carefully as Connor slowly lowers himself into a seated position, his teeth gritted painfully.

 

“Are ye sure yer alrigh’, boyo?” he asks, concern furrowing his brow.

 

Connor forces a smirk and nods. “Aye, Da. Right as rain.”

 

Murphy sits down next to his brother and shoots Noah a glance under his eyelashes before focusing on his food. He picks up his sandwich, quickly inspects what’s inside, and bites into it. He hums appreciatively and jerks his head at Connor.

 

“Eat. It’ll make ye feel better,” he says firmly, and to Noah’s surprise, Connor does as he requests, quietly lifting the food and diving into it.

 

He can’t remember the last time Connor took a command without question, unless it was directly from him. As his Da, Connor always gave him respect, and more often than not, did what he asked. But another person?

 

That’s rare.

 

A warm feeling of gratitude flows through the man that his boys have already become so close. They’ve only had a few weeks together, after all, rather than the years they should’ve had. He only hopes that he can get to know Murphy as well.

 

“So, Da, what’s te plan?” Connor mumbles around a mouthful of food.

 

Murphy sets down his sandwich, his eyes fixed on Noah, elbows resting on his knees. His blue eyes are sharp and intelligent, and Noah wonders whether his other son is suited for this life as well. He certainly held up under the pressure of being kidnapped and held for over a week.

 

But Noah doesn’t want either of his boys involved. He doesn’t think he can do this alone, however, so Connor will help him. He’s under no disillusions that Connor would let himself be left behind in the first place. Murphy, he doesn’t know.

 

“We’re gonna get ta the family before tha’ rat bastard can, is wha’. An’ then we’re gonna wait there fer ‘im, an’ take ‘im ou’,” Noah says assuredly.

 

Connor nods, obviously working through this plan. “How’re we gonna ge’ there first? Didn’t ye tell ‘im where te family is?”

 

Murphy’s eyes travel from his twin to their Da with rapt attention, listening intently.

 

Noah smirks. “Aye, I told ‘im where I hid ‘em. But I only told ‘im te town. I mighta fibbed a bit abou’ everythin’ I knew.”

 

Connor mirrors his smug smile. “Why, Da, ye smart man.”

 

Noah smiles broadly before sobering, and says in all seriousness, “I’d rather no’ have ye there, Connor.”

 

His son opens his mouth, ready for an indignant retort, but Noah lifts a hand up to stop him. “But,” he continues,” I know I can’t do tis alone. An’ there’s no one else I trust.”

 

Connor’s face is blank as he nods his agreement. Murphy looks quickly between them before settling on his Da. “I’m comin’ wit ye.”

 

Noah starts to reply when he’s cut off.

 

“No fuckin’ way. Yer no’ goin’,” Connor says loudly, and Murphy turns his head to glare at him.

 

“Why te fuck not?” he says angrily, his hands clenched into fists on his knees.

 

“’Cause it’s too dangerous, tha’s why. I’m no’ lettin’ ye go, you’ll only get yerself killed, an’ possibly us as well. Don’ bother arguin’ Murphy,” Connor says, his voice tighter than Noah’s ever heard it. He thinks of interfering in the argument, but decides to let them hash it out.

 

Murphy is breathing heavily. There’s color rising on his neck, and he looks ready to pummel Connor. He only holds back because his idiot brother is already injured. “Fuck ye, ye stupid shite! Ye don’ control me, an’ ye can’ tell me what te do!”

 

Noah’s dark-haired, mysterious son turns to look at him, his blue eyes bright in anger. “I can handle meself. I learned te use a gun years ago, me uncle showed me.” His jaw tightens and he forces out the next words through clenched teeth. “An’ I wanna stop tha’ fucker. I’ve been ready te kill ‘im since he tol’ me they were hurtin’ Connor. I made a promise te one o’ his men tha’ mine would be te last face he saw, an’ I intend te keep it.”

 

Noah gazes at his son, taking this in. It certainly sounds as if he raised this boy, though his mother is the only parent he knows. He’s impressed by him.

 

“Alrigh’,” he replies evenly, and Connor yells in outrage. Noah turns a sharp eye on him, and the boy quiets down, but his eyes speak multitudes of curses. “Bu’ Connor is gonna take ye te the shootin’ range and give ye a refresher. An’ I’ll tell ye some o’ me own experiences, jus’ like I did wit yer brother when he was younger, so you’ll be prepared. Agreed?”

 

Murphy nods tightly, and gets up to leave the room without even a glance at his twin, who’s watching his every move. When his brother walks into the kitchen, and starts slamming cabinets in his rage, Connor looks as if he wants to go in there, but restrains himself.

 

Despite their argument, Noah trusts his son to know when Murphy needs to be left alone.

 

The noise apparently draws the attention of the resident of the apartment, because the door to the bedroom opens and Andrew walks out cautiously.

 

“Everythin’ alrigh’?” he asks, eyes moving from Noah to Connor. He takes in the anger on Connor’s face, and looks as if he intends to comment on it, but before he can, Murphy comes storming back into the room, his face white, and his jaw clenched so tightly that Noah is surprised it hasn’t locked in place.

 

Connor looks up at his brother’s reentrance, and when he finds Murphy’s eyes fixed on Andrew, he pales and stands as quickly as his injuries will allow. Murphy opens his mouth to speak, but his twin cuts him off with a tight hand around his arm.

 

Murphy tries to jerk his arm free, and Connor’s hold tightens.

 

“Le’ me go!” Murphy yells, his face going red.

 

“Come wit me, Murph. I gotta talk te ye,” Connor says, his voice calm. Noah can detect an underlying hint of nervousness, though he’s not sure why.

 

“Fuck ye! Ye didn’t wanna talk earlier, ye jus’ wanted te tell me I wasn’t good enough fer you and Da, that I’d get ye killed! An’ now yer jus’ tryin’ te protect tha’ bastard—“

 

“Murphy! Outside, now!” Connor says sharply, and he starts to drag his brother from the room. Noah stands, ready to intervene. He isn’t sure what’s happening, but he knows it’s getting out of hand.

 

Murphy’s jaw is tight, and his hands are clenched and white. He looks ready to continue the argument, but stops when he sees that the effort of trying to pull him from the room has caused Connor more pain. The boy is gritting his teeth, and his right wrist and arm are pressed even more tightly to his torso. His eyes are closed as he tugs on Murphy’s arm, and the raven-haired boy finally relents.

 

“Fine,” he mutters, and he allows Connor to pull him from the room.

 

Noah watches them go, awash in confusion.

 

 

 

 

 

Murphy pulls his arm free from Connor’s grasp as the blonde shuts the front door behind them. He crosses his arms and watches as Connor takes deep breaths, trying to calm himself and allow the pain in his wrist to ease.

 

The boys meet each other’s gazes, both of them so irate that neither wants to speak. Their eyes speak volumes, however, and Connor is the first to look away.

 

“Look, Murph… I jus’ don’ wantcha gettin’ hurt, alrigh’? It’s no’ that I don’ want ye there, I jus’ know how bad it can get, an’ I don’ want tha’ fer ye. Yer too good fer… all tha’,” Connor says quietly. ‘Yer too good fer me,’ he thinks to himself. But he doesn't say it aloud.

 

Murphy hears it anyway, and some of the anger clears from his face. “Yer a fuckin’ idiot, Con. I want te come ‘cause o’ wha’ those bastards did te ye, an’ te keep ‘im from hurtin’ tha’ family. Bu’ mostly… I just wanna keep ye safe, as much as I can.” Murphy looks down at his feet as he continues. “D’ye know what it’d do to me, bein’ safe somewhere while ye go ou’, riskin’ yer life?”

 

Connor’s face falls, and he moves to stand right in front of Murphy, forcing his twin to look at him. _I’m sorry._

 

Murphy nods. He knows why Connor was so adamant about his not going. He probably would’ve done the same had their roles been reversed. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

 

Connor reaches out with his left arm and pulls Murphy into his embrace. He breathes deeply, taking in the sweetness of his Murph, whose scent is rather unnervingly mixed with that of Andrew’s soap, which they’d used to clean off earlier.

 

That thought brings back to the forefront of his mind why he was so angry with his brother. He pulls back, and Murphy can tell from his eyes that he’s irritated.

 

“Why’d ye do tha’, Murph? Ye coulda gotten Andrew killed, ye know. Da might’ve taken ‘im out, jus’ because ye were mad at me,” he says.

 

Murphy’s expression darkens, and he steps back from his twin. “I didn’ almost tell ‘im ‘cause I was _mad_ at ye, Connor. I almost told ‘im ‘cause te man is a fuckin’ pervert and a paedophile. I’m no’ six years old, I wasn’ tryin’ te get ye in trouble. I jus’ couldn’t stand te thought of tha’ sick son of a bitch bein’ in te same room wit ye, talkin’ to ye. An’ fuck ye fer thinkin’ otherwise.”

 

Connor’s face remains blank, but he reaches out again to graze Murphy’s arm in apology. Murphy hesitates, but then lifts his hand to grasp his brother’s tightly.

 

Apology accepted. However reluctantly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Murphy stands in the kitchen an hour later, dialing his home. He’s yet to call his Ma, and he knows she must be sick with worrying about him.

 

Connor is seated at the table, unsure whether he should speak to her or not. After all, it’s because of him and Da that Murphy was in danger in the first place. If he’d never gone to Cork, his twin wouldn't have been dragged into this fucked up mess.

 

Maybe his brother’s life would’ve been better if he’d never known about Connor. The blonde hates to think that, hates to wonder whether the better half of himself, the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to him, would’ve been better off without him. Given the situation, though, it’s inevitable that the thought crosses his mind.

 

Connor’s brought back to the present when he hears Murphy speak.

 

“Hey, Ma, it’s me,” he says assuredly, and then he has to pull the phone away because she’s screaming in his ear.

 

“Murphy! Ye scared te shite outta me, boy; I’ve been waitin’ hours fer ye te call, I thought somethin’d happened, an’—“

 

“Ma!” he shouts, cutting her off. “We’re both fine, I swear to ye. Sorry I didn’ call sooner, we were cleanin’ up an’ eatin’.”

 

“Aye, eatin’ is more importan’ than puttin’ yer poor Ma at ease, I understand,” she grumbles, but not seriously. He can hear how relieved she is. “Lemme talk te yer brother.”

 

“Alright. Love ye, Ma,” he says, and he hears her say it back before he waves to his twin to get his attention. “Connor, Ma wants te talk to ye.”

 

Connor stands slowly from the table and walks over to Murphy, who is holding the phone out to him, a small smile on his face. He moves into his brother’s space, standing close so he can feel Murph’s body heat.

 

“Ma?” Connor says softly, and Annabelle’s relieved voice answers him.

 

“Thank God yer alright, sonny. I was so worried abou’ te both of ye, an’ I can’ tell ye how much I prayed tha’ ye’d both make it out.”

 

Connor smiles into the phone, and leans back against Murphy, who presses his chest into his twin’s back. “Aye, Ma, well yer prayers worked. We’re alrigh’.”

 

She sighs. “When’re ye comin’ home?”

 

Warmth spreads through Connor at her words. She still wants him there, still considers him a member of her home. He never thought he’d have that with anyone but Da, and he never actually had a stable home with him.

 

It’s nice to be wanted.

 

“I dunno, Ma. Bu’ we’ve got somethin’ te take care of up ‘ere, an’ then we’ll call ye te let ye know. Tha’s te best I can do,” he says quietly, sadness lacing his tone.

 

He hears her sigh again, but this time it’s a sound of resignation. “Okay, boyo. Well, tell yer father tha’ I’m murder ‘im if anythin’ happens te either of ye.” Connor chuckles a bit, but sobers at her next words. “I love ye, Connor. I know I’ve only been in yer life fer a few weeks, bu’ I’ve loved ye since te moment ye were born. Don’ ferget tha’, alright?”

 

Connor’s eyes brim with unwanted tears, and he quickly grasps the bridge of his nose with two fingers to discreetly wipe them away.

 

Murphy watches the movement, but he doesn’t have to see the tears to know how his twin is feeling. He can sense it through their touch.

 

“Aye, I won’,” he murmurs. “Bye, Ma.”

 

“Bye,” she answers, and the phone disconnects. Murphy takes the phone from Connor’s hand and hangs it up. He keeps his eyes on the side of his brother’s face, and presses gently against the boy’s shoulder to get him to turn around.

 

Connor does so slowly, uncomfortable with showing such emotion, even to Murphy. Though, if someone has to see him this way, he wants it to be his other half.

 

Murphy tips Connor’s chin up, as he’s kept his gaze on the floor, and the brightness of the blonde’s eyes is not a surprise to him. He smiles gently, and Connor closes his eyes as Murphy wipes away the lingering wetness on his eyelashes. He’s ever so gentle when he strokes over Connor’s damaged eye, which is now yellow and green in color. At least the swelling has gone down enough for Connor to see out of it again.

 

Connor opens his eyes again to find Murphy still gazing at him. “Everythin’ alright?”

 

Connor nods, and tries to return the dark-haired boy’s smile. He doesn’t know if he succeeds. “I jus’… never expected her te really wan’ me, ye know? She has you, an’ Da has me. Bu’… seein’ you an’ Da tagether, an’ then hearin’ her tell me…” he huffs out an impatient breath, annoyed with himself for being such a fucking girl. “It makes me wonder how it all mighta been, ye know? If we’d been raised tagether. If I’d teased ye when we were little, an’ ye picked fights wit me. I dunno if we’d ever have…” he gestures between the two of them, almost awkwardly, and Murphy nods to show he understands. “I can’ say I wanna change anythin’, ‘cause doin’ so mighta kept us apart in te end. I love ye, Murph, wit all me heart, an’ I never wanna lose what we are. I jus’… wish I’d grown up wit her, too. I wish I knew ‘er.” He meets Murphy’s eyes, almost ashamed of his words, his thoughts. “D’ye understand?”

 

Murphy laughs humorlessly. “Ye idgit, who understands be’er than I do? I wish I’d known Da, as well.” He sobers, and gathers his thoughts before continuing. “Bu’… te most important thing in me life? It’s this. Us. I’d die without ye, Con, I know I would. Me heart would stop beatin’ if we were ever separated by more than distance. An’ all I can tink abou’ right now is gettin’ us outta this shite alive. Let’s focus on tha’, an then we’ll deal wit our parents.”

 

Connor nods, and darts his eyes around the room to make sure no one is entering the kitchen before pressing his lips to Murphy’s quickly. He lingers for just a second, long enough to taste Murphy’s sweetness, before pulling back and stepping away.

 

He knows that was a risk, but it was worth it to see the red pleasure rising up Murph’s neck. He longs to touch the color there, but refrains, knowing they could be interrupted. Their whole conversation could’ve been overheard, though they kept their voices quiet. Connor doesn’t know what he would do if his Da, or anyone really, ever found out about he and Murph, but he decides to figure it out if ever it happens.

 

Right now, they’ve got a gunfight to survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a review if you feel so inclined!


	15. Chapter Fifteen— Your soft skin is weeping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to go ahead and apologize in advance for the amount of smut in the first half of this chapter. I didn't intend for it to go that long, but it did.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who reads this story, and a special thank you to all of you who review!
> 
> *I own nothing.

Chapter Fifteen— Your soft skin is weeping

 

 

Connor drives Murphy to the shooting range early the next morning. Well, they call it the shooting range, but it is, in fact, a field about an hour outside of the city, where the Gardaí never have reason to come. They use silencers when they practice, as well, so no one reports them.

 

Connor is grateful for the fact that he’s left handed, as his right is practically useless. After they got off the call with their Ma the night before, Murphy had wrapped his wrist, so it doesn’t hurt as much now, but it is very much immobile. And useless. He’s driving one-handed, and he has to ask Murphy to switch the gears for him, but he hates giving directions, so they played rock, paper, scissors to determine who drove. He won.

 

Connor parks on the side of the road, and looks to his twin, who seems a bit nervous. “It’s about a twenty minute walk from ‘ere. You ready, Murph?”

 

The raven-haired boy nods, thoughts of completely making a fool of himself in front of his very experienced brother flitting through his mind. He feels like he did the first night they had sex.

 

Connor places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. Murphy looks up at him and sees the blonde’s warm, reassuring smile, and feels a bit of his anxiety leave. He gives him a wry grin. “Aye, Con. I’m ready.”

 

Connor nods. “Alrigh’, then. Let’s go.”

 

The boys step out of the car, and begin their trek through the trees. Connor steps on practically every branch near him, seeming to find amusement in making as much noise as he can. Murphy follows quietly, with even steps, and Connor wouldn’t even know he was behind him if they weren’t walking together. The boy is so graceful that he barely makes any sound.

 

They arrive at the clearing, and Connor moves to the range that’s set up, picking up cans on the way to place on the wooden board for Murphy to aim at. He walks back to Murphy after setting up a dozen of them, and moves him to the right place to shoot from.

 

“Here,” he says, and hands Murphy the gun, which he had in the waistband of his jeans. Murphy grasps it firmly, and he holds it correctly, which pleases the blonde.

 

Unlike Connor, Murphy is right-handed. He puts his right foot forward, and his left foot back to brace himself, then raises the gun to shoulder height. Connor doesn’t have to correct his stance, which puts him at ease more than he’ll even admit out loud.

 

Murphy takes the safety off and pulls the trigger, and a can goes flying. Smirking slightly, Murphy fires off eleven more shots, and afterwards, all of the cans are lying on the ground. He lowers his arm just as Connor lets out a low whistle.

 

“Maybe you shoul’ be te teacher, eh Murph?” Connor chuckles, and wraps his left arm around his brother’s shoulders, pulling him into his body. Murphy ducks his head and smiles. He puts the safety back on and lowers the gun to the ground, then stands upright and meets Connor’s eyes.

 

“Well, I guess we’ll have te find somethin’ else te do, seein’ as how I don’ need a lesson in shootin’,” he says, and Connor grins widely at him. He’s been dying to get his hands on Murphy, in Murphy, all over Murphy, since the night before, when they had to sleep apart. Their Da shared the living room with them, and they both made Connor take the couch because of his injuries. That left Murph across the room from him, and Connor could barely sleep with the need coursing through him.

 

Now, though, he has Murph in his arms, and he can feel the heat coming off his twin, and smell the sweetness of his skin and breath as it blows across his face.

 

Two weeks ago, he didn't know if he’d ever have the privilege of touching his beautiful boy again. He doesn’t plan on taking it for granted.

 

Using his good hand, Connor pulls his twin away from the range, and presses him against the first tree they come to. Murph moans as the blonde’s body molds to his, and Connor cuts him off with a scorching kiss. He licks Murph’s lips, seeking entrance, and his brother complies, letting Connor push his tongue into the raven-haired boy’s mouth.

 

Connor feels like he’s been waiting an eternity to taste the sweetness of Murphy’s mouth again.

 

Murphy pulls Connor in closer to him, gripping the back of his shirt with both hands. He’s careful not to touch Connor’s injured hand, though, as he moves his palms up his brother’s back and grips his shoulders. Connor’s hand goes to Murph’s belt, and he struggles to open his jeans.

 

He breaks the kiss to let out a stream of curses as he tilts his head to focus on getting his brother’s trousers undone. Murphy laughs and holds on to Connor’s shoulders as he kisses the blonde’s cheek, then his brow.

 

“Yer locked up like fuckin’ Fort Knox, Murph. Help a guy out ‘ere,” Connor mutters. Murphy pushes him far enough back that he can reach his own belt, and quickly frees himself from his jeans, then pushes them down far enough for his hard cock to spring free.

 

Connor licks his lips when he sees it, and keeps his eyes on Murph’s prick as he says, “Now, me.”

 

Murphy raises an eyebrow, though Connor doesn’t see it. “Who’s bossy today?”

 

Connor smirks, and finally meets Murphy’s lustful eyes. “Me. Yer gonna do what yer big brother tells ye, alrigh’?”

 

An indignant look crosses Murphy’s face. “Who says yer older, then?”

 

Connor snorts. “I do. It’s obvious, Murph, if ye look at te facts. I’m te one tha’s always got a plan. I’m more experienced, an’ I have a natural ability te lead.” He grins at him. “Plus, I look older.”

 

Murphy jaw drops open, and he pulls his pants up to cover his prick. “Te hell ye do!”

 

Connor tsks. “Now, Murph, don’ be gettin’ all worked up. How’s this? We’ll ask Ma next time we talk te her, aye? Then we’ll know for sure.”

 

If it weren’t for the fact that Murphy’s aching to get his hands on his brother, he would argue some more. As it is, finally being alone with Connor without being afraid of dying, touching him and kissing him freely…it’s all he’s wanted since he forgave him.

 

With this mission coming up, Murphy finds himself eager to map all of the planes of Connor’s body, in case things do go south, as the boy predicted.

 

Murph doesn’t want to die without making love to Connor again.

 

Murphy slowly moves his hands to Connor’s jeans, keeping eye contact with his twin and lover as he undoes the button and pulls down the zipper. “In te meantime… what d’ye want me te do next?”

 

Connor runs his left hand through Murph’s hair, and cups the back of his head to pull him in for a gentle kiss, which is at odds with the easy way the Murphy pulls the blonde’s cock out of his pants. “Pull us off, Murph.”

 

He does what he’s told. Murphy switches their position, and gently pushes Connor against the tree, being careful of the boy’s injury. Then he takes both of their cocks in hand and strokes firmly.

 

“Fuck, Murph,” Connor moans as his head falls back against the rough bark behind him.

 

“Aye, Con. Tell me how it feels,” Murphy says, his breath coming sporadically as he pumps his hand quickly. The pressure of Connor’s cock pressed against his own is fucking mind blowing, and Murphy can feel the pleasure all the way to his toes and fingers.

 

“Feels fuckin’ fantastic; I’ve been dyin’ te feel ye fer ages, brother, ye feel so good, so fuckin’ good,” Connor murmurs. When Murphy leans in further to press their bodies more closely together, he rests his head against his brother’s shoulder, and Connor turns to plant kisses down the side of his face and jaw.

 

“I’ve been waitin’ fer this, too,” Murphy mutters into his skin. “Te thought of that fucker touchin’ ye, kissin’ ye… made me wanna make ye mine, claim ye.” He grits his teeth harshly. “I wanted te fuckin’ kill ‘im fer touchin’ ye.”

 

Connor hums soothingly and runs his good hand through Murphy silky hair to massage his scalp. He feels Murphy’s body relax slightly, and his hand picks up the pace on their cocks. Connor bites his lip and closes his eyes from the onslaught of pleasure that wracks his body.

 

“Tell me yer mine,” Murphy says abruptly, his voice desperate. He presses his face into the nook between Connor’s neck and shoulder, and bites the tendon there gently. He tightens his hand around their pricks and slows down his strokes, wanting to prolong the experience. He wants to bring Connor to the edge and watch him tumble over it.

 

Connor releases his lip from his mouth and groans at the firmer strokes. “Fuck, Murph. I’m yers, only ye’ll ever touch me again. No one else.”

 

“Aye, no one else,” Murphy groans. He licks Connor’s skin, and the boy shivers beneath him.

 

“I wan’ ye, Murph. Need te feel ye under me, know yer here,” Connor says breathlessly. Murphy slows his hand down and nods against his brother’s neck. “I don’ have any slick. Ye trust me?”

 

Murphy doesn’t hesitate. “Aye, Con. Always.”

 

Connor lets go of Murph’s hair to pull his brother’s hand off of their pricks, which are straining under the force of their arousal. He walks Murphy back a step, then pulls him down to the grass below them. Murph comes readily.

 

“Off,” Connor mutters, and they both pull their clothes off hurriedly. Connor manages to do himself alone, thankfully, and as soon as he’s naked, he presses Murphy back onto the warm grass, his stomach doing flips at the feeling of so much of his brother’s skin against his.

 

“Con,” Murphy says, and Connor looks up at his twin, spread out beneath him. He kisses Murphy gently, grateful for his existence in his life. He hadn’t known it before he met him, but Connor knows now that he was only half a person without Murph by his side. Without his brother, his life is forfeit.

 

“I’m gonna show ye how it feels,” Connor says into Murph’s mouth, and he grins at his brother’s expression: lustful, hopeful, anxious.

 

Connor kisses his way down Murphy’s body, memorizing every angle or curve, every bone that presses against his fragile, pale skin. He licks both of Murph’s nipples, and the boy arches beneath him and bites his lip. Connor trails his tongue down the center of his brother’s stomach and dips it into his belly button. Murphy writhes beneath him, whimpering.

 

“Fuck, Con, get on with it!” Murphy says through gritted teeth. Connor chuckles as he completely bypasses the place where Murphy needs him most and presses a gentle kiss against the inside of the boy’s thigh. He bites where the kiss still tingles on Murph’s skin, then licks the area apologetically.

 

Murphy is sure that he’s going to explode. His brother is pure evil.

 

“I won’ ever give ye a blowjob again if yer mouth isn’t either on my cock or up my arse in te next ten seconds,” Murphy says, his voice hoarse.

 

Connor looks at him abruptly, alarm on his face. “D’ye mean tha’?”

 

Murphy meets his eyes, deadly serious. “Aye. I fuckin’ do.”

 

Connor gulps visibly. “Alrigh’, then. Ye’ve convinced me.” And he drops his head to fully engulf Murphy’s prick in his mouth.

 

Murphy moans loudly and throws his head back so hard it thuds against the grass beneath him. Connor deep throats him and hums around his prick, feeling rather proud of himself when Murph shoots his load into his mouth without warning. He doubts the boy even knew he was so close.

 

Murphy breathes harshly, his arm thrown over his eyes as he tries to calm his racing heart. “Fuckin’ A, Con. Yer fuckin’ briliiant at tha’.”

 

Connor grins smugly as he wipes some of Murph’s come from his chin and then licks his finger. Murphy tastes sweet everywhere. “Thank ye, brother.” He grasps Murphy’s right thigh with his left hand and pulls it open further, then pats his brother’s other thigh. “Spread ‘em. Yer far from done, brother.”

 

Murphy pulls the arm away from his face and obliges quickly, his eyes intent on Connor’s face. He’s wanted to know how this feels since the first time he did it to Con. The visceral reaction it always rent from the boy made his imagination run wild.

 

Murphy bends his knees at Connor’s instruction, and places his feet flat on the ground. He puts his hands behind his head so he can watch his brother as he awkwardly lowers himself to the ground with only one hand. His brow wrinkles in concern. “Con, are ye sure ye wanna do tis? Yer wrist hurts, I can tell.”

 

Connor looks as his brother in thought, debating. Well, there is another way to do this. “I can do it, bu’ we gotta move.”

 

Murphy nods readily, and sits up, then leans forward to help Connor to a seated position as well. “Where d’ye want me?”

 

Connor takes in their surroundings, and nods to himself. “I’m gonna lay down, an’ then I need ye to kneel over me head, facin’ te tree, alrigh’? We’ll need somethin’ te brace yerself against, an’ seein’ as how we don’ have a headboard…”

 

Connor moves to lie down, and then gestures for Murphy to do as he asked. Unsure of how this is going to work, exactly, Murphy kneels by Connor’s head and simply looks at him.

  
The blonde gives him a reassuring smile. “I need ye te straddle me, Murph. Me face.”

 

Murphy’s eyes widen, but he complies. Connor hasn’t steered him wrong yet.

 

Murphy’s thighs straddle Connor’s face, and the blonde grasps his twin’s hip with his good hand, pulling him into place. “Lower, Murph,” he says, and the raven-haired boy pushes his arse closer to his face awkwardly. This has to be the weirdest thing he’s ever done.

 

He really hopes it’s worth it.

  
As soon as Connor reaches up and licks a stipe across his arsehole, Murphy knows not only that it is completely worth it, but that Connor was right about needing something to brace himself against.

 

Pleasure shoots through his body, unlike anything he’s felt before. He loves blowjobs, and he really love fucking, but _this_ … he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to this.

 

Connor licks carefully around Murph’s hole, and licks the fingers of his good hand before pressing against it as well. He licks around his finger, slowly inserting it, and Murphy’s whimpering becomes moaning.

 

Murphy lowers his head and closes his eyes at the sensation of Connor’s slick finger sliding into his arse. He can feel Connor’s tongue fighting it’s way inside as well, and he can’t wait until it does.

 

Fuck, now he knows why this drove Connor so fucking insane.

 

Connor inserts another finger, and presses them in further, searching. He finds the nub he’s looking for, and nudges it gently.

 

Murphy lets out the loudest groan of the day as he presses his hands harder against the tree in front of him. He resists the urge to thrust down onto Connor’s fingers.

 

Connor pulls his fingers out, and Murphy’s cry of protest is quickly cut short when the blonde’s tongue is fully inside of him for the first time. “Fuck, Connor!” Murphy cries loudly, and he barely keeps himself from toppling over. He rests more of his weight on his hands, which are practically the only things supporting him at this point.

 

Connor chuckles against him, which sends waves of vibrations though his tongue and directly into Murphy’s arsehole. “Oh, God!” Murphy screams as his vision goes white.

 

He never even felt his prick get hard again; it seemed to happen spontaneously. And now, Murphy is on the brink _again_ , because of his wonderful, brilliant brother, whose tongue is thrusting forcefully now, pressing against his prostate and licking his insides.

 

Murphy loses all control at this point and lowers himself further against Connor’s face, practically sitting on him as he thrusts himself onto his brother’s tongue. He grasps his own cock and strokes once, twice, before he’s coming all over his hand and the tree.

 

Every bone in Murphy’s body loses strength at this point, and he collapses to the side. Connor sits up to help him land softly, amusement and concern playing on his face. “Ye alright, lover?”

 

Murphy smiles blissfully at him, his hands aching to brush the golden hair out of Connor’s face, but lacking the strength to do so. “Aye,” he mutters.

 

Connor laughs gently and moves to lie next to his brother, but Murphy shakes his head. “No, Con.”

 

The blonde’s brow furrows. “No, wha’? Wha’s wrong?”

 

Murphy smiles gently at him. “Want ye te fuck me, Con. Ye need te get off, an’ ye got me all prepped.”

 

Connor looks at him in surprise, and slowly shakes his head. “No, Murph, ye’ve already come twice. I can get meself off—“

 

“Don’ need te come again,” Murphy murmurs, his eyes half-lidded. “Jus’ wanna feel ye fill me up. Been achin’ fer ye since ye left, Con. Please.”

 

Connor doesn’t know if he could ever deny his brother anything when he speaks like that. He nods, and moves between Murphy’s legs as the boy bends his knees to bracket his hips. He braces himself on his right elbow, keeping the weight off of his wrist, before lining himself up with his other hand.

 

He leans forward to kiss Murph’s sweet, swollen mouth before pressing in. “Fuck, I love ye, Murph,” he says against his brother’s lips. Murphy simply nods, too overwhelmed to speak. He threads one hand through Connor’s hair, and presses the other against his arse, pulling him in deeper, until their balls are touching.

 

Connor doesn’t need to wait for a signal this time; he knows Murph is ready for him. He pulls out, until his cock almost comes out of Murphy’s arse, before thrusting back in quickly.

 

Murphy’s breath is quick and shallow, and he has red creeping up his neck. His head is thrown back and his eyes are closed as he feels his brother’s throbbing cock splitting him wide open. He’s never felt as complete as he does now, with his own prick fully spent, and his brother’s hard and thick inside of him. Connor is using his body to get off, and Murphy knows no greater pleasure that this.

 

Connor presses his face into the crook of Murphy’s neck and he kisses the skin there in gratitude. He can feel Murph’s soft cock pressed between their bellies, and he knows that his brother is allowing him this to show him that he truly does forgive him.

 

He also knows that Murphy’s doing it to finally claim Connor as his own. Because he is. Connor is Murph’s, forever.

 

Connor thrusts faster, harder into Murphy’s body, and the raven-haired boy grunts against him. Against all odds, his prick is getting hard again, lengthening between their bellies and the friction caused by the both of them. Connor smiles into Murphy’s skin and lifts his head to see Murph’s eyes. They’re glazed over with lust.

 

Connor slows his thrusts, because he wants to finish with Murph this time. “D’ye wan’ me te touch ye, brother?”

 

Murphy nods emphatically, his eyes begging him to pull him off. Connor doesn’t have the patience to tease him any further, as he lowers his left hand to stroke Murphy’s prick firmly. He pulls roughly, and thrusts in time with his hand against Murph’s cock. Murphy arches his hips against him, and the change in position causes Connor’s prick to hit Murphy’s already stimulated prostate.

 

Murphy lets out a whimper and closes his eyes at the assault of sensation. Connor’s thrusts quicken, and become shallower and harder as he approaches the edge. He knows he won’t last much longer, so he tightens his hand on Murph’s cock and pulls harder.

 

Murphy leans up and kisses Connor with all of the love he holds for him, and Connor matches his ferocity. He pulls on Murphy’s cock once more before the boy explodes, and the tightening of his arse makes Connor go over the cliff right after him.

 

Panting harshly, Connor comes to countless second later, his body flush with Murphy’s, his forehead pressed to the other boy’s shoulder. He can feel Murphy breathing heavily beneath him, and he forces himself to move off his twin.

 

Before he can move, Murphy’s lean arms wrap around him and squeeze lightly. Connor’s prick is soft, and still inside of his brother, and he doesn’t want to move from this place, not for the world.

 

“Love ye, Con,” Murphy whispers. “No matter wha’ might happen tomorrow, I jus’ want ye te know tha’.”

 

Connor pulls his head up abruptly, fear and surprise in his eyes. It quickly morphs to anger. “Wha’ te fuck are ye talkin’ abou’? Nothin’s gonna happen to ye!”

 

Murphy’s mouth opens to reply, but he breaks off when Connor sits up, his soft cock falling out of Murph’s body, and pulls away, searching for his clothes.

 

Murphy is hurt at his brother’s departure. “Con.“

 

Connor ignores him as he pulls on his pants one-handed, followed by his shirt. He stands and steps into his shoes, then turns to glare at Murphy. “Get dressed. Da’ll be worried.”

 

Murphy feels as if Connor struck him. He ducks his head and instinctively pulls his legs up to his body and hugs them, hiding his nudity. He feels almost ashamed, now.

 

He didn’t think Connor would ever make him feel that way.

 

When Connor finally gets over his anger enough to really _look_ at his brother, pain lances through his heart at the way he’s made Murph curl up on himself. He hates himself in that moment. He moves quickly over to the other boy.

 

Murphy flinches when a hand falls on his shoulder, though the touch is gentle. “Hey, now. I’m sorry, Murph. I’m sorry,” Connor says softly. The blonde sits behind his beloved twin, his chest flush to the boy’s naked back, and he wraps his arms around him. His left hand grips Murph’s tightly where it rests on his own legs.

 

“Ye jus’ took me off guard, Murphy, love. I don’ wanna tink about anythin’ happenin’ to ya, ever, an’… I lost my mind fer a second. I couldn’t live without ya, brother. I’d have no reason to,” Connor whispers into his ear, his voice warm and soothing.

 

Despite the pain he feels at such a statement—he hates that Connor wouldn’t want to live without him, the idea of him gone, _forever_ , is anathema to him—he also understands it.

 

When Murph allows himself to think of a life without the frustrating boy behind him, he sees only darkness. Connor’s light seems to follow him, and the brightness he’s brought to Murphy’s life would be ripped away if ever something happened to him.

 

Without Con, Murphy would have no laughter, no joy. No love. He would have no desire to live, and no reason to try. Not really.

 

A small sob escapes him, and, startled, Connor holds on to him tighter. “Wha’s wrong, dear heart? Tell Connor, now.”

 

Murphy takes in a deep, shaky breath. “I would d-die as well. Is it s-stupid te be goin’ tomorrow? Wit both of us…if I don’t make it, neither of us will. Same goes fer ye.” Tears run down Murphy’s face as he tries to get ahold of himself.

 

Connor presses his face against the back of Murph’s neck and kisses the skin there softly, his heart heavy with his brother’s pain.

 

“Murph, listen te me. I love ye, an’ you love me. We’re brothers, an’ lovers.” He kisses the spot on Murph’s neck again, and feels the boy shiver under his lips. “I don’ know what’ll happen tomorrow, tha’s up te God. But te have loved ye, and fer you te feel te same? Tha’s more than most people have in a lifetime, Murph. If I died tomorrow, next week, or fifty years from now, I’ll take yer love wit me, wherever I go, an’ I’ll be at peace. D’ye understand?”

 

Murphy isn’t ready to die. He knows that. He’s barely lived, time-wise. He’s not yet sixteen, and he has an entire life to live.

 

But he only wants to live it if he has Connor by his side.

 

He felt doubt, in the beginning, about whether what he and his brother were doing was right. He wondered if he was sick, or perverted, and considered the same about his twin.

 

But his love for Connor? No. He never doubted that he loved him. Not since the first day he figured it out.

 

Murphy grasps the arms around him and slowly disengages them. He turns in Connor’s embrace, until his knees are pressed against Connor’s chest, and he places his hands on his brother’s shoulders and looks him in the eye.

 

“Aye, Con. I understan’,” Murphy says, his voice steady.

 

Connor gives him a timid smile, and leans his head forward slightly. Murphy meets him halfway and kisses his soft lips, tasting the earthy quality that always lingers in Connor’s mouth. He feels the fear, and the pain, drain from the blonde’s body, as his own anxiety bleeds out as well.

 

Murphy breaks the kiss and leans his forehead against his brother’s. He smiles, glad of the peace he brought to his twin’s face.

 

“C’mon,” he says. “We got some bad guys te kill.”

 

Connor grins, and pulls him to his feet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The boys meet their Da back at the paedo’s apartment, and get to work cleaning their guns—Connor shows Murph how to do it properly, after Da hands him two guns of his very own—before their departure.

 

They’re in the kitchen, at the table, heads bent over their weapons as they work diligently to make them as clean as humanly possible, when Andrew pokes his head in, face set in determination.

 

“Connor?” he says, and the blonde looks up distractedly. Murph, however, has all of his attention set on the man, his fists clenched tightly in his lap.

 

“Aye?” Connor replies, raising an eyebrow.

 

“May I have a word with ye?” Andrew says impatiently. He doesn't even phrase it like a question, as if he expects Connor to do what he says, Murphy irks at that.

 

Connor looks almost amused. “Nah. If ye have somethin’ te say, say it here. What I know, Murphy knows.”

 

Andrew’s eyes widen at that, and comprehension dawns on his face. The reason that Murphy has been so hostile towards him has finally been illuminated. His eyes dart to the dark-haired twin’s face, and Murph smirks at him, his fists in full sight on the table now.

 

Andrew’s eyes move quickly back to Connor, and he clears his throat awkwardly. “I was hopin’ te speak wit ye alone, Con.”

 

Murphy stands so abruptly that neither of the other two anticipates it. Connor looks surprised, but Andrew has an expression akin to fear on his face.

 

_No one calls you that except me,_ Murphy thinks as he glances at his twin, and Connor nods. He understands that this is something Murph has to do. He’s been nonchalant about the whole thing, because he _was_ consenting when it all happened, but if he imagines how he would feel if their situations were reversed… well, any old fuckers that touched his Murph would already be in the ground by now.

 

“Yer not talkin’ te him again, ye sick fuck. In fact, yer no’ gonna talk, _ever_ , if ye don’ get te fuck outta here, now,” Murphy spits.

 

Andrew makes one more mistake, then. Instead of leaving, or talking to Murphy, he turns his eyes to Connor.

 

Murphy loses it then. He rounds the table faster than Andrew can react, and hits him in the jaw with all of his strength. Andrew shouts in pain, and goes down. Murphy quickly straddles his chest and punches him, over and over again, in his fucking perverted face.

 

Connor lets him for a minute, aware that Murphy needs to get this out of his system. Before he can get up to intervene, their Da comes barging into the kitchen, his eyes wide in shock and confusion.

 

“What te blood ‘ell is goin’ on ‘ere?” he bellows, and reaches for the scruff on Murphy’s neck to pull him off. Connor gets to him before he can.

 

“No, Da, Andrew deserves it, trust me. An’ I was jus’ about te break it off,” Connor says quickly, and then he places a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder.

 

Murphy stops hitting the fucker immediately, and his body relaxes under the touch. He stands, and turns to see his brother, understanding and love in his eyes. Beside him is Noah, whose expression conveys only a determination to get a full explanation.

 

Murphy didn’t even hear him come in. He moves to the table to grab his and Connor’s guns, uncomfortable with leaving them out. He hands Connor’s to him, and receives a grateful nod in return.

 

“Now, someone better tell me wha’ tha’ was all about,” Noah states with no room for argument, bringing Murph’s attention back to the situation at hand.

 

Connor and Murphy look at each other, and it’s decided in that quick glance that Connor will do the talking.

 

“’e made a pass at me, Da. Murphy was defending my honor,” Connor says with a straight face, and their Da’s eyes widen comically before they turn to Andrew, who is moaning pitifully on the floor.

 

“Tha’ true?” he asks of the man, his voice laced with steel.

 

Andrew’s swollen eyes dart from Connor to Murphy, and back to Noah, before he nods slightly. _Smart man,_ Murphy thinks sardonically. _At least he knows te repercussions o’ tha’ will be far less than layin’ a hand on ye._ Connor smirks, just enough that Murphy and no one else can see it.

 

“Yer te never speak te either o’ me boy again. If I ever see ye in te pub, or walkin’ down te street, yer no’ te talk te me. I don’ suffer perverts who try te seduce young boys. Ye understand me?” Noah says dangerously.

 

Andrew nods again, and closes his eyes, his face wrinkled in pain. Noah snorts, and grabs both boys by a shoulder, steering them from the room.

 

“Grab yer tings, lads. We’re goin’ on a mission,” Da says, and the boys move to grab anything they may have left behind. They don’t have much, since they came from the warehouse. Just the clothes they came in, and their guns.

 

They’re out the door in two minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The big shootout is next! Thank you so much for reading :) Please let me know what you think if you have a moment!


	16. Chapter Sixteen—We’d set the fire to the third bar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I own nothing.

Chapter Sixteen—We’d set the fire to the third bar

 

 

Their Da leads the way around the house, and the boys fall in line behind him as they make for the back door. He wants to get inside before they announce themselves. Anyone could be watching the streets, and Noah doesn’t want Berne to know they’re here before the man gets inside.

 

Murphy can’t wait to have his vengeance against the fucker that hurt his twin. He spent the drive here thinking about how it would happen.

 

Connor spent the two hour drive praying over his rosary. He sat in the back, and his eyes were closed except for a moment when the two in front gained his attention with their awkward conversation.

 

“Murphy,” their Da began, his tone uncomfortable. He glanced at his dark-haired son from the driver’s seat before quickly returning his eyes to the road.

 

Murph had been staring aimlessly out the window. He wasn’t that thrilled with sitting up front with the old man, since he didn’t even know him, but Connor wanted to stretch out due to his semi-injured ribs. The day before had really taken it out of him, though he hadn’t complained at the time.

 

To be honest, Connor wasn’t really feeling much pain. He just wanted to give the two most important people in his life a chance to talk to each other.

 

Murphy looked slowly over at his Da, or Noah, or whatever, his face a mask of indifference. “Aye?”

 

Noah cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I, eh, have sometin’ fer ye. Connor has one, an’ so do I. It’s a family heirloom o’ sorts. I meant te give it to ye when ye turned twelve, as I did Connor, but, eh…”

 

Murphy raised an eyebrow. “Bu’ ye’d abandoned me already.”

 

Noah grunted in neither agreement nor argument. He simply reached into his pocket and pulled out a rosary, identical to Connor’s, and also a perfect match for the one under Noah’s shirt, though Murphy couldn’t see it at the time.

 

A smile grew on Connor’s face at the sight of the gift. He was happy to have something to connect the three of them besides guns and a plan for revenge.

 

Murphy hesitated before reaching out and taking the rosary gingerly. He held it carefully on his palm, and then turned shocked eyes to his Da. “Tank ye. It’s beautiful.”

 

Noah was relieved that Murphy had finally spoken to him without a smart response or dig. He knew he deserved it, but it still pained him to be reminded on his failings as a father to the fey boy next to him. Murphy looked almost fragile next to his own well-built figure. The child was slim and lean, barely an ounce of fat on his body, and was as pale as a ghost. His hair, though, was dark as a raven’s feathers.

 

Despite the boy’s appearance, Noah knew him to be a good fighter, scrappy and mean if he had to be. Skillful with his fists, and, according to Connor, a gun.

 

Noah prayed for both of his boys to make it out of this alive.

 

As they arrive at the back door, Noah pries it open, and they step into what looks like the dining area. Connor stands between his father and his brother, and can feel Murph’s shoulder pressed against his own, the long line of his arm a warm comfort through their layers of clothing.

 

“C’mon,” Da whispers, and they all step carefully into the next room, the living room, and begin to climb the stairs, careful not to make any of them squeak.

 

Connor’s right wrist is still wrapped, but his other injuries are mostly healed. He can see out of both of his eyes, and the bruises on his ribs are mostly painless, though still colorful. His ribs twinge now and again when he moves around, but the adrenaline is blocking out any possible pain he might feel.

 

Murphy is at the back of the group, and is the last one to reach the second floor. The house is dark and quiet, and the men take in their surroundings, deciding which door to try first.

 

In the end, it doesn’t matter. All of them need to be awoken, so it’s unimportant who’s awake first. Murphy takes one room with Connor while their Da takes the other. Inside the first room, Murphy spots two twin-sized beds.

 

There are children asleep in them.

 

Murphy’s heart skitters at the thought of wrenching young babes from their rest, only to thrust them into the terror of having a madman coming after them. He takes a deep breath as he meets his brother’s eyes.

 

He sees the same apprehension in them, and it relaxes him minutely, to know that he is not alone in his trepidation. Murph reaches a hand out, and Connor grasps it tightly, squeezing once before letting go, and they move as one to the beds.

 

On the bed in front of him is a young girl, probably around ten years old, wrapped up in pink blankets and holding a stuffed horse to her small chest. Murphy’s body tenses as he prepares to wake her, but he’s saved the trouble when he hears a scream from the next bed over.

 

It sounds like the lad woke up.

 

Connor darts forward from his stance by the other bed to clasp his hand over the boy’s mouth gently, but urgently. The girl, meanwhile, has shot upright in her own bed, and has wide eyes trained on Connor.

 

Murphy ducks in front of her, blocking her view as Connor tries to calm the lad. He places a finger against his mouth. “Shhh,” he says. “We’re gonna take ye downstairs, you an’ yer brother, an’ yer Ma. Then we’re gonna help ye get away from ‘ere, alrigh’? We’re no’ gonna hurt ye, I promise.”

 

The girl’s eyes are darting everywhere around the room, looking for a way out, and Murphy almost wants to praise her for searching for an escape. But he knows that the habit was born out of fear, so he tries to get her to focus.

 

“C’mon,” he says softly, gently, as he stands up. He holds out a hand for her to take. “I won’ hurt ye,” he repeats, and she hesitates for a moment more before climbing out of the bed unassisted.

 

Murphy chuckles lightly to himself before turning to assess Connor’s progress. The boy has tear tracks on his face, but he appears to be calm now. He’s actually holding Connor’s fucking hand.

 

Bastard. Murph has to learn how to get through to kids.

 

The boy can’t be any more than six, and he’s sucking his thumb like it’s a comfort. He reaches out his other hand for his sister to take, and the four of them walk downstairs, where they’re met with the sight of their Da, who is seated on the couch, and the woman.

 

She’s busy wearing a hole in the carpet from pacing when she catches sight of her kids. She stops in her tracks and holds her arms out, and they run to her. “Babies, I’m so sorry. These men aren’t gonna hurt ye, but I’m sorry if ye were scared. Everythin’s gonna be alrigh’.”

 

The kids snuffle into the front of her nightgown as she looks up at Noah, her eyes frightened. “Wha’ now?”

 

Their Da stands, and Connor automatically moves to stand beside him. Murphy moves on instinct as well, but his tells him to be next to his twin.

 

“We ge’ ye outta here. I got a place, ye should be okay there until I can… deal wit this man. An’ then ye can come back, get on wit yer lives. Alrigh’?” Da says, his voice as close to kindly as Murphy has ever heard it.

 

The woman nods, and follows Noah as he leads the way outside to her car. He hands her a piece of paper out of his pocket. “Here are te directions. D’ye have a full tank o’ gas?” She nods. “ Good. Don’ stop fer anythin’, ye hear me? Yer kids hafta pee? Give ‘em a cup. Yer lives aren’t worth a trip to the loo,” Noah says after she’s loaded the kids into the car. “Ye should be there in two hours. When ye get there, walk straight inside an’ lock te door. Don’ answer for anyone bu’ me or one o’ my boys ‘ere, an’ I’ll give ye te password, Frankenstein. No one knows te cabin exists except me an’ them. You’ll be safe, Karen.”

 

The woman, Karen, nods, her eyes brimming with tears. She hugs their Da quickly, her face pressed into his shoulder as she lets out a sob. Noah pats her back gently once before gently pushing her away. “Go on, now. We’ll see ye in te mornin’,” he urges, and she gets into the car at last.

 

They watch as she buckles everyone’s seatbelts and takes a quick glance at the directions before pulling away from the kerb and driving away.

 

Noah waits until she’s out of his sight, and then he walks back to the house, his boys on his heels.

 

It’s time.

 

 

 

 

 

Murphy and Connor are hidden in the kitchen, and the room is so dark they can barely see each other. They wait here in case Berne and his men come in through the back door. Their Da is closer to the front door, where he expects that the bastard will enter. He’s hidden behind a partition of the wall, where he will have the benefit of surprise. He’s ready to step out and fire when the man enters the home.

 

Connor hears the sound of a car’s engine, and then the abrupt noise of it shutting off, followed by car doors slamming. He looks to his twin, he dear brother Murph, and reaches his hand out to brush the stray strands of black hair from the boy’s eyes. Murphy leans into the touch, his eyes closing very briefly.

 

Connor leans forward and brushes their lips together, just once, before pulling back and pulling his gun out of its holster and stepping back. Murphy stares for just a second longer before doing the same, a grimace of determination on his face.

 

They hear the door open, and then Berne’s voice. “Spread ou’, boys. Find te bitch an’ bring ‘er te me. Te kids, too.”

 

Murphy grits his teeth and looks at his brother. Connor holds up a finger, indicating for him to wait.

  
When the first shot is fired, Connor leads the way into the other room.

 

Murphy can see their Da, to their direct right, guns in both hands, shooting to kill at the men, some of who are shooting back. The others are either already on the ground, bleeding, or trying to arm themselves.

 

Berne has dived behind the banister of the stairs, taking cover, and depends on his men to keep him safe, as he hasn’t fired a shot yet.

 

Connor and Murphy run for their Da’s position. Men are dropping like flies as Noah’s bullets hit their marks again and again, and Connor thanks the Lord for his Da’s experience with guns. He’s hitting every bastard that might take a shot at them as they’re exposed.

 

Both boys round the partition and press their backs against the walls, hand gripping their guns tightly at their sides as they catch their breath. They take a moment to ready themselves for the situation that is unfolding around them.

 

They will have to become killers.

 

Connor’s mind tries to reconcile the idea of trying to be worthy of his brother’s love, to be able to stand next to such a pure and lovely beauty like Murph’s, and know that he took another man’s life. Because that’s what he’s going to do, now. He’s going to shoot another human being, a son or husband, or father, to keep his family safe.

 

And that’s really the only important part: he has to keep Murph and Da safe. Connor steps out next to his Da, and pulls the trigger.

 

Murphy’s turmoil is more of a moral conflict. He’s been raised Catholic, in _Catholic school_ , even, and he knows that killing is a sin. He’s been taught that all of his violent tendencies should be harnessed, not unleashed, with a gun, no less.

 

But he thinks of Berne standing over them when he wanted to take a picture of them as proof that they were alive, and remembers the evil bastard saying ‘ _yer bravado won’t do much good against a gun._ ’ He recalls the bruises on his brother, the swollen eye and cracked ribs. The broken wrist.

 

He imagines what the fucker would do to him if he caught Connor again.

 

Murphy moves to stand next to Connor, aims his gun at the nearest enemy and shoots him in the chest. The man drops his gun and collapses to the ground.

 

There are six men left, if Noah counts correctly, including Berne. Three men have guns and are in positions of cover. One man is behind the couch, the other behind a chair, and the last is near the banister where Berne is hiding.

 

The last two men are still trying to get their guns out, and are shot dead before they can do much more than tug on them.

 

With only four men remaining, Noah takes a step closer to them, and away from the cover of the partitioned wall beside them. Connor and Murphy follow him, guns still raised.

 

Murphy aims at the couch, estimates where the man who’s hiding there is, and shoots through the cushions. He hears a thump, and the man doesn’t get back up.

 

Connor is aiming at the arsehole behind the chair when the man peeks up and shoots at them. Noah is busy firing at the man covering Berne, and Murphy is turning his own gun towards him to help Connor get him when he feels a sting in his right arm.

 

Only a millisecond passes, but suddenly, his arm is on fucking _fire._

 

He grunts in surprise as the burn spreads up his arm, and he can’t really feel anything except the excruciating pain. He hears Connor scream something as his vision swims, and he leans against the wall beside him. He tries to keep himself upright as the reality of the situation hits him.

 

_I just got shot_.

 

Fuck.

 

He lifts his other hand to press against the wound in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. Connor is at his side now, and is talking to him, but he can’t make out the words over the ringing in his ears.

 

Connor, after having taken out the fucker that fucking _shot_ his Murph, is trying to get his brother to show him the injury, but the boy has his hand locked tightly over it. He realizes that his twin can’t hear him over the shock, and simply grabs Murphy’s shoulders gently, urging him to meet his gaze.

 

Murphy does so, dazedly.

 

_Yer alrigh’. I’ll help ye. Let me see it._

 

Murphy nods slightly, and his hand loosens over the wound. Connor’s heart skips a beat as he sees Murphy’s precious blood pour from the wound, and he wants to kill that fucker a million more times for the mortal sin of breaking his brother’s skin and causing him pain.

 

Connor can’t see much of the wound because of the blood, but he feels the back of it tenderly, and knows that the bullet went through and through. It didn’t lodge in the bone. Thank God.

 

Connor pulls off his coat and rips off a sleeve. Murphy’s eyes watch him, and he seems to be snapping out of the shocked state he was in. The blonde wraps the sleeve around Murph’s arm tightly, cutting off his circulation.

 

Murphy shakes his head to clear it of the fuzziness, and the ringing in his ears. The sounds of the world around him come crashing in, and he remembers that not all of the men were taken out before Connor came to his aid. His eyes quickly dart to the corner where Berne had taken refuge, as do Connor’s when he steps back from his makeshift tourniquet.

 

Noah is standing next to the body of the man who had been standing guard over Berne, his gun pointed in front of him. Connor wraps his arm gently over Murph’s shoulders and leads him closer, until they can see that it’s Berne, as they suspected. The evil bastard is on his knees, facing away from Da, and both boys listen intently as their Da recites a prayer.

 

Connor recognizes it as the one his father told him was a family prayer. Murphy has never heard it before.

 

Noah finishes, and one last gunshot pierces the air before Robert Berne slumps to the ground, a hole through his head.

 

Connor and Murphy watch as Noah takes pennies out of his pockets, and the man proceeds to arrange the bodies around them, place pennies in the eyes of the dead, and say a prayer. They join in to help him, though Connor keeps one eye on Murph at all times, to make sure he isn’t in too much pain to move around.

 

Murphy can’t even feel any pain right now. He’s numb, his arm and his whole body, from everything that just happened. He makes sure to pray over the body of the men he knows he killed. So many bullets were flying that it was impossible to tell if he’d personally shot any of the others.

 

As the men stand after finishing with the rituals, there’s an eerie silence hanging in the room, and Murphy is itching to get the hell out. Connor notices, and walks to him, grasps his good arm, and leads him out the front door. Their Da follows behind, and he closes the door on the way out.

 

No point in alerting the neighbors. Though they’d have to be deaf not to have heard something earlier.

 

They walk the three blocks to the car, where they’d parked it in an empty driveway. Murphy sits in the back, and Connor joins him without hesitation. Da takes the driver’s seat, and he quickly pulls out of the neighborhood and heads to the highway.

 

“How’re ye feelin’, Murphy?” Noah asks, his eyes darting to his fey son in the mirror. Murphy face is lax as he leans against his brother, who has an arm wrapped around him, and his head resting on Murphy’s hair.

 

Connor’s eyes are closed, but he opens them to answer his Da. “He’s alrigh’, Da. Just in a bit o’ shock. Bullet went through his arm, and the bleedin’s stopped. We jus’ need te find somewhere to hole up so we can patch it up.”

 

Noah nods, not all that surprised at having Connor answer a question aimed at his twin. The way they’ve been joined at the hip since yesterday, he wouldn’t be surprised if they could read each other’s minds.

 

Noah drives them to a rundown hotel off the highway. He rents them a room, then moves the car closer to where they’ll be staying before climbing out and opening the back door.

 

Connor blinks up at him, waking from his restless nap. He’s tired, and he’s fucking _pissed_ at himself for letting Murphy get hurt. He just wants to sleep and for everything to be better in the morning. Right now, though, he needs to get Murph’s gunshot wound closed up and let the boy get some decent sleep.

 

Murphy is nudged gently awake, and he groggily gets out of the car at his brother’s insistence. Connor walks him into the hotel room, and directly to the bed, where he sits him down on the mattress. Noah comes in after them, carting the items out of his bag that he’s brought for an occasion such as this.

 

Noah plugs in the iron so it can start getting hot before pulling out the gauze, whisky, antiseptic, and painkillers. He hands Connor the last two items, and turns back to the iron.

 

Connor kneels in front of his brother, who is watching their Da warily. He shifts his gaze to his brother, and his expression becomes one of trust and love. Connor is awed at the amount of faith that Murph still has in him.

 

He takes out a few pills and hands them to Murph along with the flask of whiskey. Murphy downs them without question, and chases them with the liquor, cringing slightly at the taste.

 

Noah walks over to them, iron in hand, and shoots a glance at Connor, who nods and stands to move behind Murphy. “It’s gonna hurt, Murph, bu’ ye do wha’ ye need to te make it be’er, alrigh’? I’m here,” Connor murmurs as he sits behind his brother.

 

Murphy’s breathing is ragged now, but he nods shakily. He isn’t prepared for this, to have his skin burned shut. It was bad enough being shot, but _this_? Voluntarily melting his skin with an iron?

 

He takes in a deep fortifying breath before leaning back against his brother. Noah takes it as his cue, and moves closer.

 

Connor wraps his arms around Murphy, immobilizing his torso, and exposing the wound to their Da. Noah puts a piece of cloth in Murphy’s mouth the muffle the sounds of his screaming when the iron hits his skin.

 

Connor subtly presses his face against the side of Murphy’s neck and blows warm air on to the pale skin there. Murphy shivers a bit, and Connor knows he’s distracted himself just enough.

 

He looks to his Da, and nods.

 

Noah presses the iron against the wound, and Murphy screams through the cloth in his mouth. Though it’s muffled, it still feels like a blade in Connor’s heart. When Noah pulls the iron away, Connor quickly helps to rotate Murph’s arm so their Da can do the other side.

 

Noah applies the iron again, and this time Murph’s screams are quieter, and his body is almost limp. This worries Connor more than his desperate screams of pain.

 

The iron is pulled away, and Connor reaches out quickly to pull the fabric from his brother’s mouth. Noah takes in his boys, Murphy slumped against his twin, Connor whispering words of encouragement into the dark-haired boy’s ear.

 

They find comfort in each other in a way that Noah will never truly understand. He finds that he’s okay with this. As long as they have somewhere to find that comfort, that’s all he cares about.

 

He clears his throat just enough to get Connor’s attention. “I’m gonna let Karen know tha’ she’s safe. I’ll be back in a few hours, alrigh’?”

 

Connor nods briskly before moving his head back against Murphy’s and he continues with whispering in his ear. Murphy is coming to a little bit, and his breathing is becoming more natural.

 

Noah turns and walks from the hotel room, and the boys are alone again.

 

Connor’s whispering slowly trails off, and Murphy’s eyes flutter open before he turns his head to look at his twin. His fucking beautiful, precious twin, who he could have lost tonight. He tightens his arms around Murphy’s torso, and feels the boy shiver beneath him.

 

He needs to get him warm.

 

Connor stands up, and Murphy grunts in displeasure at the cold air rushing in on his exposed skin, and from not being able to feel his brother anymore. But before he can become too unhappy, Connor is back, having moved around the boy to stand in front of him. He grasps Murphy under his arms and pulls him upright.

 

Murphy stumbles against him, but Connor’s hold is tight and secure, and he leads his twin to the bathroom, where he sits Murph down on the toilet.

 

Connor starts the bath, and then moves back in front of his brother, kneeling before him so he can meet his eyes.

 

Murphy smiles at him, and holds out his left hand. It hurts too much to move his right arm at the moment. Connor grasps Murphy’s hand tightly. “I’m so sorry, Murph.”

 

Murphy shakes his head groggily. “No’ yer fault.”

 

Connor ducks his, eyes trained on the floor. “’s my job te protect ye.”

 

Murphy scoffs. “An’ it’s mine te protect _you_ , bu’ look what Berne did to ye jus’ last week,” he says slowly, forcing the words out past his exhaustion. “Ye can’t be God, …we jus’ do our best, and pray that we all make it out alrigh’. An’ we did. So stop fussin’.”

 

Connor’s mouth lifts in the corner reluctantly at that, and he leans forward to press his lips to Murph’s, who opens his mouth, eager to taste the familiarity of Connor’s tongue. He feels such comfort in his brother’s touch, and he wants to feel him everywhere. It’s the only way to rid himself of this day, and everything that happened. He wants to feel like he did earlier in the grass, his entire being created to find completeness with his twin.

 

Murphy pulls his hand out of Connor’s and moves it up to grasp his brother’s shoulder, pulling him closer. Connor moves as close as he can without sitting on Murph, but it doesn’t seem to be near enough for the raven-haired boy.

 

“Get yer clothes off, Con,” Murphy whispers. Connor’s eyes widen, and he starts to ask Murph what the hell he thinks he’s doing, trying to start things up with his arm hurting so much, but the look in the boy’s eyes keeps the words in his mouth, unspoken.

 

Connor stands, and reaches for the hem of his own shirt and pulls it off over his head. Then he unbuttons his pants, kicks off his heavy boots, and strips his jeans off of his legs, followed by his shorts. He’s fully naked now, and Murphy just _looks_ at him, his eyes taking in every inch of the boy in front of him.

 

Connor steps softly over to his darker twin, and reaches a hand out slowly to grasp the belt on Murph’s pants. He gently tugs Murph up into standing, until their bodies are almost touching, and then unbuttons the pants, staring into his brother’s eyes all the while.

 

“I can’ believe I coulda lost ye tonigh’,” Connor whispers, his eyes filling with tears at the thought. Murphy shakes his head, and places his right hand on the blonde’s cheek, stroking softly.

 

Connor pulls Murphy’s jeans down his hips almost tenderly, taking care not to jostle the boy as he kneels before him to bring them to his ankles. He picks up Murph’s left foot and places it on his bare thigh before pulling the boy’s boot and the leg of his jeans off; then he does the same for his right. Finally, Murphy is as naked as Connor is, and the blonde stands slowly, memorizing every inch that is bared for him, and only him. He reaches his hand out and trails it gently over the silky skin, from the boy’s knee, to his thigh, across his stomach and up his ribs.

 

At last, Connor is standing before Murphy, looking into his eyes, and all he can see is the love that his brother feels for him. His own love for the raven-haired boy is all encompassing, and his heart feels overlarge with the emotion, as if it might burst.

 

Connor’s hands come up and tenderly cup Murph’s cheeks, one wrist still bandaged tightly. The pale boy in front of him was almost taken tonight. If the bullet had been a few inches to the left…

 

Before the thought can finish, Murphy is on him, as if trying to drown out his inner voice.

 

It’s working.

 

Murphy’s tongue is delving into his mouth, and he’s overwhelmed with the boy’s sweetness and desperation. Connor wraps his arms around the slender boy and returns the kiss with fervor, trying to show Murph how sacred their bond is, and how fucking terrified he was, without saying a word.

 

Murphy hears him loud and clear.

 

Connor breaks the kiss to look over Murphy’s shoulder, and he curses before he darts around the startled boy to turn the tap off. The bath is very close to over-filling. Connor turns to see Murphy watching him, and he raises an eyebrow, indicating the tub. “I got it ready fer you, bu’… if ye wanna continue…”

 

Murphy smiles at him, and moves carefully over to his brother, kissing him once before lifting his leg up and into the tub. Connor’s hand braces him as he steps fully into the tub and gingerly lowers himself. He places his arm on the side of the tub before allowing his body to relax into the warm water.

 

Mimicking their positions from the day before, but what feels like a lifetime ago, Connor steps in behind Murph and seats himself so that his chest is flush with Murphy’s back. His brother’s slick, warm skin is everywhere, pressing against the inside of his thighs and along his legs, the boy’s sharp shoulders digging into his collarbones as he leans back.

 

Murphy closes his eyes, content for the first time since Connor was inside him last, when they were lying on the grass, wrapped up in each other, out of breath in the aftermath of their lovemaking. Murphy remembers how he felt then: complete, and full of such love and faith in the other boy that he wasn’t able to put it into words. He just held onto him tightly.

 

He wants to feel the same way, now. He wants Connor inside of him, moving him to another plane of existence, bringing back the peace that he felt earlier. Murph turns his head slight and presses his lips to Connor’s jaw, kissing gently.

 

He can feel Con’s breath against his cheek as he slides his mouth up to the boy’s ear, which he nibbles ever so gently.

 

“What’re ye doin’, Murph? Playin’ wit fire?” Connor murmurs distractedly, most of his attention focused on the pleasure that Murphy’s touch is invoking in him.

 

Murphy nods against him, and moves his mouth again, this time to the side of Connor’s mouth. Because of their positions, Connor needs to move for them to kiss properly. The blonde doesn’t hesitate to do so.

 

This kiss is softer than earlier. Connor moves his mouth sensuously against Murphy’s, taking pleasure in feeling the curve of the other boy’s lips. His taste is as intoxicating as it ever is, and he presses his tongue into Murph’s mouth, and the dark haired boy wraps his own tongue around it when he does.

 

Connor jumps slightly when he feels Murphy’s right hand reaching back, between their bodies. He expects Murph to touch his cock, to tease him or pull him off, but what he does instead has Connor wrenching his mouth away from his brother’s to look down in shock.

 

Murphy is pressing his fingers against his own hole, slowly inserting them one at a time. He’s lost in the pleasure of having his fingers up his arse, and is searching for _that spot_ , eager to open himself up for his brother so he can feel the boy’s cock split him in two again. He wants to feel him everywhere.

 

More blood fills Connor’s prick, and he groans as he feels the back of Murph’s hand brush it as the boy thrusts into himself. They’re so close that Murph can’t help but touch him, too.

 

“ _Fuck_ , Murph,” Connor murmurs softly, and Murphy bites his lip to stop his groan. The blonde looks up into his brother’s face, and notices the raven-haired boy’s face twinge in pain as he moves his hand.

 

It must be causing his other arm to shift.

 

Connor grasps Murph’s hand to stop his movements, but before the boy can protest, he has his own fingers pressing there, and in seconds, they’re buried to the hilt. Murphy’s head cants back, leaning against Connor’s shoulder, and his breathing become shallow as he thrusts down onto his brother’s fingers.

 

Fuck me, he thinks. Connor’s fingers were sculpted by angels.

 

Connor presses further into his twin’s body until he finds the boy’s prostate, and he nudges it. Murphy bites his lip, hard, and he can taste the blood blossoming as he holds in his moan. The only sound in the room is the boys’ harsh breathing, and the movement of the water as their thrusting causes waves.

 

“Get in me, Con. Wanna feel ye, please,” Murphy whispers, and Connor doesn’t need to be told twice. He doesn’t want to hurt his brother by entering without lube, but he can’t stand the thought of not being inside of him _right fucking now_.

 

Connor pulls his fingers out and Murphy whimpers at the loss, but Connor already has his cock in position and is pushing into him, _so fucking slowly_ , it’s like pleasurable torture. Murphy thrusts downward when Connor continues moving slowly, and suddenly, Connor’s balls are flush with Murphy’s arse, and his forehead is pressing hard into the other boy’s shoulder blades.

 

“ _Fuck, fuck, fuck_ ,” Connor mutters against his skin, trying to control the urge to come in Murph’s arse. His tight heat is wrapped around his prick, and he feels so fucking good. To be in Murph now, after what happened, is all that he needs, yet it’s still not enough. He needs to see Murphy taking all of him in, gasping from his hard thrusts, moving on his cock.

 

He needs to know that they’re both alive, and they’re gonna stay that way.

 

“Murph, yer never te do tha’ te me again,” Connor says lowly, and then he pulls out and thrusts back in, hard. Murphy gasps, but manages to stop his moan from escaping.

 

“Never again, Con,” Murphy murmurs. Connor thrusts again, and white blossoms behind his eyes.

 

“Promise me, Murph. Ye can never leave me,” Connor says, his face pressed into Murphy’s shoulders. He thrusts again, keeping them spaced out. Murphy can feel every ridge of Connor’s cock in his arse, every shift inside of him, and he relishes the feeling. He’s glad they don’t have any lube at the moment, because he doesn’t want anything between he and his twin besides the warm water surrounding them.

 

His heart aches at the pain he feels though their touch. He understands how Connor feels, because he felt the very same way when Connor left him, and when he saw him again, covered in bruises, his wrist broken in two. Murphy reaches his hand over his own head and cups the back of Connor’s scalp. His fingers shift over the boy’s hair as Connor thrusts into him again.

 

“I promise, Connor. Te day I leave tis world, we’ll both be old men, and we’ll go tagether, just like we entered it,” Murphy promises. He doesn’t have any right to make this promise, he knows, but Connor knows that as well. It’s the words he needs to hear.

 

_We’ll be together, always._

 

Connor thrusts inside of him harder, deeper, and he hits Murphy’s prostate, causing the boy to let out a barely audible groan. Connor is gasping against his skin, and Murphy’s hand tightens in the blonde’s locks and they move more quickly against each other.

 

Some of the water is splashing over the sides now, but neither of them notices. Connor wraps his arms around Murphy’s torso and pulls him closer, trying to meld their bodies together. He doesn’t ever want to part from his twin. One of his hands drops to wrap around Murphy’s prick, and he pulls on it roughly.

 

Murphy bites his lip again. The sounds that want to leave his mouth would wake the dead. He pulls hard on Connor’s hair, urging the boy to go faster, to thrust harder. Connor does, his cock barely pulling out before he pushes in far enough to hit Murph’s prostate with every stroke. Murphy is coming apart above him, he can feel it, and he pulls faster on the boy’s cock.

 

The boys reach their peaks together, Murphy’s come shooting into the water, and Connor’s sperm coating his brother’s insides. Connor kisses the skin of Murph’s shoulder reverently, tasting the sweat and never wanting to let go of the boy in front of him, around him.

 

Murphy is in his heart, and he wouldn’t know how to let go even if he wanted to.

 

Murphy rests his head against Connor’s shoulder, his eyes closed in the aftermath of their lovemaking. He’s sure now, in a way that he never truly was before, that Connor is the other half of his incomplete soul. They were born together, and they will die together, whenever that may be.

 

He’ll never be parted from him.

 

Murphy smiles at the thought.

 

 

 

 

After Connor got the two of them clean with another quick bath, he lifts Murphy from the tub, both of them fully naked and dripping wet. The boy is so tired that he doesn’t protest at being carried in Connor’s arms to the bedroom. His lean frame is pulled snugly against the blonde’s chest, and he feels safe here.

  
They both do.

 

Connor sets his brother down gently, and moves to the bags to pull out some pajama bottoms. Neither boy sleeps in shirts. He pulls out two pair and walks back to his brother. With a quick glance at Murph, who nods sleepily at him, Connor pulls the legs on the pants up his brother’s ankles, over his calves, and to his thighs.

 

Murphy lifts his bottom just enough for Connor to pull them up over the boy’s hips. He quickly steps into his own pants, and then climbs onto the bed next to his beloved twin.

 

Connor and Murphy sleep wrapped around each other, their arms and legs intertwined, their heads pressed together innocently. They look as if they’re sharing a womb, in fact. At least, this is what Noah thinks as he comes back into the hotel to find them sharing the bed, looking so young that his heart breaks for the years together that they lost.

 

Noah quietly steps back outside, prepared to take watch until sunrise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a review to let me know what you thought, if you have a minute :)


	17. Chapter Seventeen—I find the map and draw a straight line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing.

Chapter Seventeen—I find the map and draw a straight line

 

 

Murphy is sleeping. At least, he thinks he is.

 

He feels as if his mind is at rest, and he’s content in a way that he only is when he’s dreaming or with Connor. And everything is dark.

 

But he feels small points of pressure where something soft is being pressed to the side of his face. The soft things move from his jaw, to his cheek, and then press upon his closed eyelid. When they move to his forehead, Murphy finally gathers the energy to force his eyes open, his half-sleep mind unsure of what he’ll find.

 

His eyes fall upon Connor, who is pressing his lips gently to the crown of his head. From his position on the bed, Murphy has his brother’s collarbone directly in his line of sight, but he knows in the way that he’s certain of the sunrise everyday that it could only be his twin leaning over him, caring for him.

 

Murphy smiles, and when Connor pulls back far enough to see his face, he looks unsurprised to see his brother’s eyes are open. He returns the smile gently, his expression relaxed, at peace.

 

“Hey,” Connor says softly, placing his hand on Murphy’s face and stroking his thumb across his high cheekbone. Murphy leans into the touch, his eyes fluttering open and closed in his drowsiness.

 

“Hmmm,” Murphy replies, lacking the energy to actually think of something to say. His eyes wander to their surroundings, as his mind hasn’t supplied where they actually are yet.

 

His sleepiness vanishes in an instant as he remembers the night before, and the fact that their Da is here somewhere. Murphy turns alarmed eyes at Connor, who notices the abrupt change in his twin’s mood and is gazing at him worriedly.

 

“Where’s Da?” Murphy whispers. To his surprise, Connor’s worry vanishes, and his smile returns. He leans down, and this time places a gentle kiss on Murph’s lips, trying to ease the other boy’s anxiety.

 

“He’s out checkin’ on te family one las’ time. Said he’d be back in an hour, and our Da is nothin’ if no’ punctual,” Connor replies. “Tha’ was abou’ twenty minutes ago, brother. No worries, alrigh’?”

 

The fear of being caught eases out of Murphy’s tense body, and he nods, relaxing into the bed. His expression becomes mischievous.

 

Connor’s eyes narrow in suspicion. He knows that look. He’s worn it himself countless times.

 

“Say, Con?” Murph asks, his eyes wide and his tone innocent.

 

“Wha’?”

 

“Ye lef’ me real sore yesterday, wha’ with yer manhandlin’ me in te tub. Tink ye could work out te kinks in me back?” Murphy can’t help the slow grin that spreads across his face at Connor’s glare.

 

“Ye want a massage, is that it? Wan’ me te rub yer feet, too, princess?” Connor says mockingly. Murphy pushes his bottom lip out in an approximation of a pout.

 

Connor sighs. He has a sneaking suspicion that perhaps he’s not the one with more control in this relationship. “Fine. On yer stomach, then,” he mutters. Murphy gives him a wide grin and moves over carefully, conscious of his injured arm.

 

Connor follows him, and straddles his thighs. He sits just under the curve of Murphy’s arse, on the tops of the boy’s legs, and runs his good hand across the smooth expanse of skin on his twin’s back.

 

Murphy moans into the mattress at the light touch, obviously enjoying the attention. Connor smirks, and focuses his attention on rubbing the kinks out of Murph’s back. He can only do it one-handed, so he takes his time, carefully massaging all the tight areas under the pale, fragile skin below him.

 

Murphy wriggles into the mattress for a few of them, which are obviously tender. “God, Connor, there,” he also murmurs a few times. “Harder.”

 

Connor’s prick lengthens over the course of the next ten minutes, and stays that way. He knows that Murph is in the same boat, as he catches the boy rutting into the bed a couple of times.

 

Murphy is practically sinking into the mattress below them by the time Connor is finally working on the last knot. He moves to get off of his twin, and stretches out beside him on the bed, facing him with a big grin on his face.

 

He’s glad to see Murph so relaxed, finally. The boy deserves it more than anyone else Connor knows. And he wants to be the one to bring this euphoric state to the beautiful boy.

 

Murphy’s face is calm in a way that Connor only sees on him after their lovemaking. He runs his hand down Murph’s side slowly, lightly, wanting to feel the boy’s skin, and allowing the peace that his twin feels to settle into his own bones. Their connection works like this, sometimes.

 

Often, it’s a transfer of feelings that aren’t so great. But times like this, or last night in the bath, their touch can bring pleasure, and a sense of relaxation that makes Connor feel as if he’s the one that just received a massage.

 

Murph groggily pushes his eyes open for the second time today. He feels so good right now, so fucking good. And when he opens his eyes, he’s greeted with the sight of Connor, who is gazing at him with such tenderness and love that he can’t help but move closer to the boy.

 

Connor watches as Murph scoots on his belly until he’s almost flush against his side, and smiles when the boy moves onto his side, and reaches out his arm carefully to urge Connor to do the same. Murphy is lying on his right side now, so his good arm is pressed to the bed.

 

When Connor turns over, he’s in the same boat: his broken wrist is not under his body. Rather, his uninjured, dominant left arm is flush with the mattress.

 

Connor and Murphy both move the last few inches closer to each other and press their bodies together. Their chests are bare, and they close their eyes at the feeling of their naked skin meeting. Their cocks are both hard, and they can feel each other through the fabric of the pajama pants, but neither one moves to make the moment more intense.

 

They simply lie there, pressed together, gaining comfort and security in the other’s presence.

 

“I love ye, Murph,” Connor whispers. Murphy smiles against Connor’s cheek.

 

“Me, too, Con. Always,” he replies.

 

Connor breathes his brother in, trying not to think about what could’ve happened the night before. If that man had better aim…

 

Murphy and Connor both would be in the ground right now. And Noah would’ve had to bury both of his sons.

 

Murphy kisses his cheek softly, as if sensing the dark turn in his brother’s mind. Connor forces his mind from his morbid thoughts, and focuses on what _did_ happen.

 

They saved a woman and her children. They all worked together, as a family. A thought enters Connor’s head, and he pulls back far enough to see his twin’s face.

 

“Hey, Murph? I saw Da give ye te rosary, like mine an’ his. Where is it? It wasn’ on ye las’ night before yer bath,” Connor says curiously.

 

Murphy smiles sheepishly at him. “I felt a bit weird. Ye know, wearin’ a rosary when I knew I was abou’ te kill people,” he replies. “It’s in me coat.”

 

Connor smiles at him gently, understanding in his eyes. “Aye, it does feel a bit hypocritical, even if Da is on a mission from God.”

 

Murphy laughs, his head thrown back enough to expose his throat. His breath hitches when he feels Connor’s soft lips press gently to the tender skin there, and he groans as the boy licks a trail up to his ear.

 

Connor lifts his head and presses their mouths together softly, taking pleasure in simply feeling his brother. Soon, though, it’s not enough for either of them. Murphy deepens the kiss, and presses his body to Connor’s urgently. He knows their Da will be here soon, and he doesn’t know the next time he’ll have a chance to taste Connor again.

  
Connor moans into his mouth, and leans his body forward to press Murphy back onto the bed. His good arm is free of his body weight now, so he uses it to lift himself over his brother, just enough so that when he lowers himself again, he can press their cocks together.

 

Murphy grunts into the blonde’s mouth at the feeling of their hard pricks meeting through the fabric of their pants. He ruts his hips up, and Connor meets his thrust with one of his own. Murphy lifts his legs to wrap around Connor’s hips, and he presses a pale, bare foot against Connor’s arse, urging him to push harder, faster.

 

Connor complies, his lips still devouring Murphy’s, his tongue delving into the sweet chasm of his brother’s mouth. His hips piston into his brother’s hips, and he feels an impatient hand reach down to jerk his loose pants further down his hips. His cock is suddenly free, and the sensitive skin of the tip brushes the top of Murphy’s hipbone.

 

His hips stutter before he picks up the pace, and he breaks the kiss, moaning into Murphy’s mouth instead. Murphy’s hand goes to his own pants, and he pushes them down far enough for their pricks to meet. The skin on skin contact is electrifying, and all he can feel, think, taste, is Connor.

 

He moves his hand to grip Connor’s arse firmly, encouraging the boy to push harder against him. Connor is panting now, and whispering Murphy’s name against the skin of his cheek reverently. Murphy whimpers as the pleasure spreads though his core, down to his legs, and his knees shake as his need to come moves ever closer.

 

The boys never hear the door open. They never even notice the sound of footsteps making their way into the room, or the abrupt halt those feet make when their owner sees what is happening between the brothers.

 

They see and hear only each other. Connor’s lips are pressed against his twin’s cheek, and Murphy’s eyes are closed against the onslaught of sensation, his hand still gripping Connor’s bare arse. He squeezes as Connor thrusts quickly and fiercely against his body, before finally moving his hands between their bodies and wrapping it around both of their pricks.

 

“Oh, fuck, _Murph_ ,” Connor moans, and he pistons his hips into Murphy’s hand, their cocks pressed against each other as he pumps his hands along their shafts.

 

“Connor, Connor,” Murphy mumbles. Connor places his head on Murph’s collarbone, licking there to taste his brother’s skin.

 

 A loud crash sounds in the room, and Connor halts his movements, but keeps his body plastered to his brother’s, his first thought to protect Murphy. He moves his head to the side, and his heart plummets to his stomach as he sees their Da standing inside the door, his face red with rage, his body overcome with shaking.

 

“What—the bloody fuck--- is goin’ on here?” Da grits out. Murphy gasps beneath Connor, as he’s unable to see past his brother’s body. He freezes, his limbs going numb, at the sound of their Da’s voice.

 

He fucking saw them.

 

“Da—no,” Connor starts to say. But then he stops. What is there to say, really? He shakes his head, and averts his eyes from his father, focusing instead on the ashen boy below him, who is in too much shock to move. Connor leans on his right elbow so that he can reach down and pull Murph’s pants up, covering his now flaccid prick. He then moves to pull up his own.

 

Before moving off of his twin, Connor meets Murphy’s eyes, urging him to snap out of his shock.

 

_I’m here, Murph. Everythin’s gonna be alrigh’._

Murphy’s eyes clear just enough that he can nod, understanding, and Connor shifts his body off of his brother to sit beside him. He’s facing their Da now, the man who raised him from the moment he took him away from the rest of his family, the one person he looks up to and admires.

 

His glare matches his father’s.

 

Murphy sits up slowly, his wide eyes darting from Noah to Connor, unsure. Is Connor going to start something?

 

Connor shoots Murph a look. _Fuck yes, I am_.

 

“Wasn’ what ye were expectin’, then, Da? When ye pictured us bein’ a big, happy family, did ye picture us wit more clothes on?” Connor says snidely, and Murphy gasps quietly.

 

Noah takes a menacing step forward, his face red and burning. “Yer no’ te speak te me tha’ way! Yer disgustin’, a shame on te family name—“

 

“Aye, Da, an’ what a great family it is,” Connor spits. “You, a murderin’ warrior for God. An’ Ma, drunk more often than no’. Te only person tha’s been there fe me, always, is Murph. Ye tried, I know ye did, but I was always less important than te next job, the next hit. More shit happened te me when ye were away than you can imagine, an’ I don’ blame ye fer it. But don’ expect me te feel ashamed o’ me and Murphy, ‘cause I don’.” His glare is piercing, and their Da seems at a loss for words. He deflates a bit, uncertain.

 

Noah’s eyes move from Connor to Murphy, his expression beseeching. “Murphy? Surely ye know tat tis is wrong?”

 

Murphy’s jaw clenches. He can feel the determination emanating from Connor, but also the _fear_. Connor is standing up for their love, however unorthodox it is.

 

Murphy can do no less. He grasps Connor’s hand with his own, interlocking their fingers. Connor turns his head, shocked, and meets Murphy’s steady gaze with wide eyes, before his face softens ever so slightly.

 

Murphy turns his gaze to Noah, and what his Da sees there causes him to take a step back.

 

This isn’t something he can fight.

 

Noah sits heavily in the chair near the door, and sinks his head into his hands. He doesn’t know what to do here. How can he force them apart, when their love is so strong? For, he can see that it is, despite their only knowing each other a few short weeks.

 

This is wrong, his mind screams. They are brothers, kin, of the same blood. It is an abomination, and a carnal sin.

 

But, a voice whispers in the back of his mind. What harm can they do? Who does it hurt, except possibly themselves if they are parted?

 

No. This can’t be allowed.

 

But how can he stop them? He has no control over them, and even if he did, would he be able to live with himself? He saw their love before, and mistook it for a different kind, but it felt no less fierce, no less strong. Unbreakable, even.

 

Noah lifts his head to see his boys communicating—there’s no other word for it—without speaking. Connor lifts an eyebrow, and then Murphy tilts his head. Connor nods once, subtly, and then a soft quirk comes over Murphy’s lips.

 

The boys look at him simultaneously, and it’s almost eerie. Their heads are tilted at the same angle, and both have expressions of careful blankness on their faces. Their hands are still intertwined, and Noah can barely make out the stark whiteness of Connor’s usually tan skin where Murphy is gripping too tightly.

 

Connor doesn’t seem to mind.

 

Noah sighs. He knows what he has to do.

 

“Run” he says, lowly. Reluctantly.

 

Connor maintains his blank visage longer than his darker brother. “Wha’?” Murphy asks, his brow slightly furrowed, but his jaw still set defensively.

 

“Get outta Ireland. Too many people know ye, Connor,” Noah says, looking to the son that he raised from a wee babe. “It’s dangerous. People in our circle find out, ye better pray they kill ye, an’ not do worse.”

 

Connor pales. He honestly hasn’t really thought of what might happen should someone find out. He had just assumed things would work themselves out. He and Murphy would be careful, and no one would look twice at their closeness, because they’re twins.

 

But that isn’t how things are going.

 

Murphy is squeezing his hand so tightly that Connor cannot feel it anymore. He looks to his brother, and he tells him, with his eyes, that he needs Murph to trust him.

 

Murphy’s expression clears, and he nods slightly. _Always, Con._

Connor stands, disentangling their hands, and moves to change into his day clothes. Murphy follows him slowly, his wary eyes fixed on Noah.

 

His Da merely nods at him, his expression still torn. Murphy shakes his head, confused, and changes into his jeans. Connor buttons them for him, because it’s difficult to move his arm, and then pulls a shirt over his brother’s head, carefully working his arm through the hole.

 

Noah watches them, taking in the tender way that Connor handles his brother’s injuries, and finds that he feels a bit of relief that his boys have found this kind of love for themselves. It would’ve been easier had they not found it in each other, but Noah is done wishing he can control their lives.

 

Perhaps it’s meant to be this way. Perhaps they have a higher purpose.

 

Connor moves to the door, his hand wrapped around Murphy’s wrist, pulling the fey boy along, and Noah stands and walks out after them. He pulls out the car keys, calls Connor’s name, and tosses them to him when the blonde turns around.

 

“Take it,” he says. “Go to te trains, or te boats. Go te Boston, in te States. There’s a bar there, McGinty’s. Ask fer Doc, he’ll look after ye. Le’ me know ye made it, bu’ carefully. Maybe I’ll come an’ see ye.”

 

Connor smiles, just a quirk of his lips, and nods at his Da before throwing their bags in the backseat. He makes his way around to the driver’s side and climbs in. Murphy is about to open the passenger door, when Noah’s soft voice stops him.

 

“Murphy, please,” he says. The boy freezes, and turns to face him. He’s taken aback at the sadness and resignation on the man’s face. “I know ye hate me, boyo. I did te best I could, and I’m sorry if I made te wrong decision all those years ago. But I love ye, son. _Nothin’_ can or will change tha’.” He clears his throat, and he finishes quietly. “Y’understan’?”

 

Murphy nods slowly, his eyes fixed on his Da’s face. Cautiously, he steps away from the car. He can feel Connor’s eyes on his back as he moves closer to their Da. Noah’s expression shifts from wary, to hopeful, and back again as he watches him.

 

Murphy stops in front if him, his eyes burning. “I don’ hate ye. I jus’ wish… that I coulda known ye, as a father.” His glances behind him, at the car and his brother, before looking back at Noah. “And I can’t hate ye fer separatin’ us. God works in mysterious ways. Perhaps separatin’ us was te only way te keep us together in te end.” Murphy shrugs. “I could never hate anyone who loves Connor.”

 

Noah smiles at his son. “And I could never do anythin’ but love my boys.” He sobers. “Ye will know me as yer father, one day, boyo. I promise ye that. I’ll find ye, an’ we’ll be just us, alrigh’? I know what kinda man ye are, and I’m proud o’ ye. But I want te get te know ye, as well.”

 

Murphy can feel the tears itching to fall, but he just sniffs, and ducks his head, nodding. He feels arms wrap around him, and he stiffens, but then relaxes into the touch.

 

His Da is hugging him.

 

The tears flow freely, from both of them, before Noah releases him and steps back. “Now, go, before Connor tinks I’ve upset ye.”

 

Murphy huffs a laugh before nodding and walking to the car. He sends his Da one last nod before climbing in.

 

Noah watches the car as the boys drive away.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the abrupt end and the shortness of the chapter. It just really wanted to end there.
> 
> Please review and let me know what you thought!


	18. Chapter Eighteen—We’d share each other like an island, until exhausted, close our eyelids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm sorry this is so late. I just started a graduate program, so I got kinda swamped there. We're nearing the final stretch now, though, just a couple of chapter left! Thank you to everyone who's stuck around to read this little story!

Chapter Eighteen—We’d share each other like an island, until exhausted, close our eyelids

 

 

Connor stops the car at the docks, his mind a whirlwind of fear and sadness. But when he looks to his side, at Murphy, who is watching him with eyes the same shade as his own, he feels also hope, though it is tinged with trepidation.

 

And of course, as always, there is love.

 

Murphy is quiet, studying Connor, and the blonde smiles at him to let him know that he’s okay. Then he uses his good hand to pull his darker half closer, and presses their foreheads together.

 

He inhales deeply, and feels Murph do the same.

 

“We’ll be alrigh’, dear heart,” he whispers.

 

Murphy grasps his knee and squeezes. _I know._

 

The boys get out of the car a few minutes later, and each grab a bag. They head to the boat that is docked at the harbor, and each of them keeps an eye out for workers, or anyone who could catch them and have them thrown out.

  
They toss their bags over the fence surrounding the docks, and then slowly and painfully climb over it, as neither can climb well with only one hand. Then they run for it, as quickly and quietly as they can.

 

After sneaking onboard, and avoiding the skeleton crew—they must not have too many people working on the weekend—the boys steal down to a lower level.

 

Connor wishes they could’ve just bought tickets, but neither he nor Da has that kind of money. And he knows Murph doesn’t have it. All the money Da gets from his hits goes to the club. He keeps only a little for himself and Connor.

 

The boys find a deserted corner in a large storage room in a lower level and hunker down there. It’s cold, but not unbearable, so they huddle together to keep warm.

 

They don’t know where this boat is going, but as it’s trans-Atlantic, they guess that it’ll land somewhere on the American continent. From there, they can travel to Boston by working odd jobs or some such thing. Connor has no doubt that they’ll figure it out.

 

The rest of the day and the night pass slowly, and the boys fall asleep against each other. They’re woken when the boat rumbles to life the next morning, and Connor realizes that he’s starving. Neither of them has eaten since before the hit.

 

He hears Murphy groan a bit, and he looks over to see his brother grasping his arm in pain. He must’ve slept with it at an awkward angle, because it fucking _hurts_. Connor quickly grabs his bag and digs through it, finally pulling out the pills that help with the pain. He pours two onto his palm and holds them out to Murphy, who takes them slowly, and then swallows them dry.

 

“Tanks,” Murphy whispers painfully, and Connor nods, though his brother can’t see him because his eyes are closed again. “’m fuckin’ starvin’.”

 

“Aye, me too. Give us an hour, and I’ll sneak around an’ try te find sometin’. Don’ wanna be too close te shore, in case they catch me an’ turn around,” Connor replies softly, and Murphy nods. Before Connor can say anything else, Murphy is fast asleep again.

 

Connor reaches for his bag awkwardly, as Murph is leaning on his shoulder and he doesn’t want to dislodge him, and rifles through it until he finds his black wool coat. He pulls it out, and drapes it over his brother’s slumbering form. Then he lays his cheek against Murphy’s dark hair, and keeps watch, the boat rumbling beneath them.

 

 

 

 

Murphy wakes a few hours later, a bit groggy, but in less pain. When he sees Connor in the process of sitting down, grasping a small box, he realizes what woke him.

 

He can’t believe Connor’s leaving hadn’t roused him.

 

“Whatcha get?” he asks, rubbing his eyes to help himself wake up.

 

Connor gets comfortable next to him, taking his sweet time in arranging his legs just so, and delicately placing the box on his lap, before he answers.

 

“Dunno. Jus’ went te the kitchens, grabbed somethin’, an’ ran,” he says with a grin, and Murphy barks out a laugh.

 

“So, fer all you know, it could be napkins in there? Or plastics forks?” Murphy remarks, and Connor’s face falls. He quickly becomes indignant.

 

“Oi, I know how a box o’ food feels, an’ this here’s a box o’ food. I’d bet me life on it,” Connor says firmly, but Murphy just chuckles at him, shaking his head.

 

“Alrigh’ then. Open it, if yer so sure.”

 

“Fine. I _will_ open it,” Connor says, and he reaches for the lid dramatically.

 

He opens it slowly, and Murphy leans over him as best he can to look down at the contents.

 

Connor grimaces, and Murphy bursts into laughter.

 

There are plastic knives inside.

 

“Oi, Con, at least if they find us down ‘ere, we’ll ‘ave somethin’ te defend ourselves wit!” Murphy sputters through his guffaws, and Connor reaches over quickly to smack the back of his head.

 

“I’d like te see you do better. Go on, then, Macho Murph, show me how it’s done. Let’s put yer sleuthin’ skills te work, eh?” Connor replies snidely.

  
Murphy stops laughing, and his expression becomes one of determination. “Fine.”

 

“Fine.”

 

“I’m goin’.”

 

Connor shrugs flippantly. “So, go.”

 

“I will,” Murphy says hotly, and he uses his good arm to struggle to his feet. He marches off without another word.

 

Connor thinks about going after him, but he decides that seeing Murphy come back with his tail between his legs will be more entertaining.

 

After thirty minutes pass, Connor’s smugness has been replaced with anxiety.

 

By the time the hour mark comes and goes, he’s frantic with worry. He wants to go look for him, but where the fuck could he be? He doesn’t even remember how the hell he got to the kitchen before, he just ambled around until he stumbled across it.

 

And now he has no idea where Murphy is.

 

Connor is pacing, and is two seconds away from going off to search for his brother _anyway_ , when Murphy comes strutting back in.

 

Connor is irate. “Where da fuck have ye been?” he says loudly, and Murphy’s eyes widen as he stops in his tracks.

 

“Shhh, Con, they’ll hear ye!” he hisses, but Connor is way past caring at this point.

 

“Ye had me outta me mind wit worry, an’ all ye can say is ‘they’ll hear ye’?” His voice is rising in his temper, and Murphy does the only thing he can think of. He moves forward quickly, dropping the bag he’s holding to the ground, and claps his hand over Connor’s mouth.

 

Connor licks his palm, but Murphy just sneers at him. “Ye really tink doin’ that’s gonna make me let go? Ye’ve done it in far more interestin’ places.” He smirks when Connor’s eyes narrow. “Will ye listen now?”

 

Connor nods reluctantly, and Murphy slowly pulls his hand away and smiles at him gently. “I’m sorry I worried ye. I got lost, then when I found te mess hall, it was packed, so I had te hide out and wait fer it te clear. I got us some food.”

 

Connor’s eyes widen, and he looks around, apparently not having noticed the bag Murphy had been holding when he’d come in. His gaze lands on the bundle on the floor, and then shoots back up to his brother, who is smirking triumphantly.

 

“Ye bastard! How’d ye manage it?” Connor says. He can’t decide whether to be indignant or impressed.

 

Murphy chuckles as he moves towards the bag. “Told ye. I waited ‘em out. Then I snuck in, grabbed a couple tings, shoved ‘em in a bag, an’ got te hell outta there,” he says as he picks it up and goes back to their corner.

 

Connor joins him as he sits down, and they dig into the bag together.

 

Murphy smiles at Connor’s happy expression. “Bread! Oh, an’ cheese, fuck, I love ye Murph,” Connor says reverently as he pulls out the items. He puts them on his lap, then leans over to press a quick kiss to his brother’s lips. Murphy smiles against the kiss, resisting the urge to deepen it. It’s not like they can do much here, on a ship full of people.

 

Plus, he’s bloody fucking starving.

 

The boys dive into their impromptu meal, and when they’ve eaten every last crumb, sit back, eyes closed in happiness at finally feeling full.

 

Murphy’s contentedness ends when the aching in his arm worsens. He hadn’t thought about it, because he’d been so hungry, but his arm has never really stopped hurting. Connor cracks his eyes open when he feels Murph’s distress, and he clucks his tongue.

 

“Hurtin’ again?” he asks softly. Murphy shrugs. “C’mon then, love. C’mere.”

 

Murphy looks up to meet his brother’s eyes, and sees that the blonde’s arms are held out in front of him, ready to embrace his twin. Murphy smiles reluctantly, and moves gingerly across the concrete until his back is against his brother’s chest, and his head is tucked into the nook of Connor’s neck and shoulder.

 

Connor kisses Murph’s high cheekbone, and whispers to him. “Sleep now, Murph. I got ya.”

 

And Murphy does.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The days pass in this fashion. Murphy ends up showing Connor the proper way to steal food, so he doesn’t have to make all the trips himself. They remain unnoticed, and only have a few close calls, until the ship docks in the port of New York City.

 

They walk off the boat as if they’re meant to be there, and only receive a few passing stares, curious eyes following for a moment before they move out of sight.

 

They step off of the dock and into the city of Manhattan, and they look up at the buildings on the small island, their eyes wide. Even though Connor grew up in the city, he can’t quite wrap his head around the size of the one around him. Murphy is in awe, never having been to a large city, besides short trips with his Ma, and, of course, when he was kidnapped. But he’s never seen so many _people_ in one place before. It’s unreal.

 

It’s almost evening, so they stop at the first bank they see to convert their money into dollars. They ask the teller where they can buy tickets to Boston, and are told to head to Penn Station.

 

Connor leads the way back onto the street, about a hundred dollars folded up in his pocket. He can only hope that it’s enough.

 

They walk the city, unwilling to spend a penny of their money on transportation, and find their way to Penn Station within a couple of hours. At the ticket office, Connor and Murphy wait in line for a few moments before they’re called to the window.

 

“We need two tickets te Boston, please,” Connor says. The woman behind the glass partition doesn’t even blink at his accent; she just types into her computer for a moment before looking back up.

 

“First class or coach?” she asks.

 

“Te cheapest ye got, ma’am,” Connor replies, and the woman grunts at him.

 

“Eighty-seven fifty,” she says after a moment, and Connor breathes a sigh of relief before peeling off the necessary cash and handing it over. He can feel the warmth of Murphy’s arm pressed against his own.

 

They’ll make it there. Soon.

 

“It leaves from terminal fifty-three at ten o’clock tonight, but you’ll need to be at the terminal at least thirty minutes before departure. You’ll arrive in Boston at 4:30 in the morning. Here are your tickets. Please present them to the driver,” she says quickly, and hands them the folded envelopes that hold their tickets.

 

Connor takes them eagerly along with the change and thanks her. He moves away from the window and meets his brother’s bright eyes.

 

_We’re gonna be okay._

 

Murphy nods, a smile on his face.

 

 

 

 

 

The bus pulls in to South Station in Boston before the sun comes up the next morning. The boys hunker down in a corner of the station rather than leave at this early hour. There won’t even be enough people about to ask for directions, and they doubt there would be anyone at the bar even if they did manage to find the way there.

 

They take turns napping until the sun come up, and then they head out onto the streets of Boston.

 

It’s not nearly as big as New York City, but it seems older somehow. To Connor, it feels more like home.

 

The boys decide to wander for a while, to get a sense of the city they’re now to call home, rather than asking for directions. They spend nearly the rest of their money on breakfast and lunch, and finally decide to track down the bar when their stomachs tell them it’s time for dinner.

 

The sun is about to set when they find themselves wandering downtown, on a large street called Boylston. The sidewalks are packed with shoppers, and Murphy’s arm is jostled more than once as the boys try to get their bearings and figure out where the hell to go.

 

Connor finally just says, ‘fuck it,’ and pulls his brother into a large supermarket, Shaw’s, and walks up to the first employee he sees.

 

“Hey, lass, I gotta question fer ye,” Connor says, laying on the charm. Murphy rolls his eyes and smirks as the girl’s expression becomes a bit glazed. Even with greasy hair and week-old clothes, Connor can still melt honey off a tree.

 

“Sure,” she answers, her smile bright and flirty.

 

Connor grins at her. “Me brother and I have a friend ‘ere in town. ‘e works at a bar called McGinty’s. Ye heard of it?”

 

The girl’s head nods quickly. “Yeah, I know where it is! It's about twenty minutes from here if you take the bus.”

 

Connor’s face brightens. “Could ye tell us ‘ow te get there?”

 

“Of course!” she says, and then walks towards the entrance of the store. She points to the left. “Walk down this street until you reach Brookline, and turn right. You’ll walk for about ten minutes, then you’ll hit Comm Ave. Take another right and in a couple of blocks you’ll see Kenmore Station. You can’t miss it, because it’s right in the middle of the street. The buses meet there, they pass right through the station. Don’t go underground, because that’s the T, and it’s faster to take the bus for where you wanna go.”

 

Connor nods along as she speaks. “Right, right. Which bus’ll we take, then?”

 

“It’s number 57. I take it all the time to get home. The wait area for each bus is different in the station. 57 is all the way in front; just look for the sign. The bus costs two dollars each, and you’ll stay on it for maybe fifteen minutes. The pub you’re looking for is on Washington Street, near Market Street. If you get off at that stop, you should be able to see it. Did you get all that?”

 

Connor smiles at the girl, and looks over at his brother, who is slipping a piece of paper in his pocket. The blonde narrows his eyes suspiciously, but Murphy just gazes at him innocently, so he shrugs and looks back at the girl. “Yeah, lass. Tanks a lot, we appreciate it.”

 

“Anytime!” she answers cheerfully. “Good luck!”

 

Connor smiles and nods one last time before heading out of the store, hands shoved in his jeans pockets.

 

“She was nice, eh? Bit o’ good luck, findin’ a girl that knows where te pub is,” Connor remarks, and Murphy scoffs. Connor looks at him, a smirk on his face. “Wha’?”

 

Murphy glares at his brother balefully. “You, that’s wha’. Flirtin’ wit’ her te get ‘er te help. Yer shameless.”

 

Connor rolls his eyes. “Flirtin’ never caused any harm b’fore, Murph. ‘Sides, she was cute.”

 

Murphy sneers at him, and his stride lengthens.

 

Connor’s grin widens. He hurries to catch up to Murphy, grabbing his good arm to stop his progress. Murphy wrenches his arm away. “I was only jokin’, Murph! Ye know yer te only on I tink is cute!” he laughs, and the raven-haired boy ignores him.

 

The boys walk in silence, Murphy sullen because of his brother’s teasing, and Connor pouting due to his twin’s silence, until they reach Comm Ave. “Tink she said te take a left. C’mon Murph.”

 

But his brother just shakes his head, and turns to the right, never breaking his stride. 

“Murphy! She said left!”

 

“No, she didn’t ye utter moron! She said te turn right,” Murphy calls back over his shoulder. “And if ye turn left, it’s not even Comm Ave anymore, it’s a different street, anyway!”

 

Connor sneers at his brother’s retreating form and turns his head to look at the street sign that his brother had already noticed. If they turned left, the road became Beacon Street.

 

Fuck.

 

The blonde trudged after his know-it-all other half, his mood darkened by his annoyance.

 

They arrive at the station, and Murphy sits down near the sign for bus 57. He pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket and reads it quickly before nodding to himself and replacing it in his pants.

 

“What’s tha’?” Connor asks belligerently.

 

“None o’ yer business,” Murphy answers. Before he can even think of trying to block him, Connor is on top of him, trying to pull him into a headlock. “Oi! Geroff me, ye fucker!”

 

“No’ ‘til ye tell me wha’ that is!” Connor replies, dodging Murphy’s flailing attempts to hit him whilst keeping a firm hold on his twin’s neck.

 

“It’s te fuckin’ directions, ye retard! I wrote ‘em down when she was talkin’ ‘cause I knew yer dumbass would ferget and try te get us lost!” Murphy yells heatedly.

 

Connor looks down at his brother’s raven hair from where he has his head pinned to his chest, and grins as he gives it a good ruffle. Murphy struggles harder, yelling indignantly, before the blonde finally lets up and releases him.

 

Murphy smoothes down his hair and glares at a grinning Connor. “Yer a right arsehole, ye know tha’?” he says, and he’s walking away before he can see his brother’s face fall.

 

Connor watches Murphy move back to sit down and wait for the bus, and wonders how the fuck they ended up here. Of course, if he’s to be stranded in a strange country, there’s no one else he’d rather be with than Murph—who he’s already pissed off to the point of not speaking to him—but what are they supposed to do on their own?

 

Besides helping his Da, Connor has never held a job. He can speak a few languages, but what kind of work is there for a teenager who can speak in different tongues? Hell, what kind of work is there for a couple of teenagers at all?

 

How is he going to make sure that Murph is taken care of?

 

The bus arrives, and a sulking Murphy follows Connor onto it. The blonde puts money in for the both of them, and they walk to the back of the bus together, and take their seats where they can watch the other riders. No sense in being vulnerable.

 

As the bus pulls out of the station, Connor’s mind is on this Doc fellow that they’re going to meet. He doesn’t want the man to support them, whether he’s willing to or not. Connor can take care of his own. He just needs to be pointed in the right direction.

 

Murphy is thinking of his Ma. She’d always talked about traveling around the world, and about the places she’d like to see. He knows she mentioned America once or twice, but he doesn’t recall specific cities. He wonders if she’d like it here, and if she knows that they’re okay. He hopes their Da talked to her.

 

He wants to see her again.

 

Grief spreads through Murphy’s heart as he thinks of what his Ma is doing. If she even knows how far away her boys are from her. As the bus goes over a bump in the road, his arm nudges his brother’s, and Connor turns his head sharply to asses his twin’s well being when he senses his distress.

 

Murphy’s head is down, but Connor can feel his pain. He lifts his arm and wraps it around the raven-haired boy’s shoulders. Forgetting their fight earlier, Murphy lets Connor comfort him, pushing the pain out and through his brother as a way of coping with it.

 

Connor can take everything his brother gives him. Whether it’s happiness or pain, Connor wants to share it with him.

 

Ten minutes later, the bus announces their arrival at the stop the girl indicated earlier, and the boy’s alight from the vehicle, their shoulders moving to touch automatically as they begin walking down the street. Connor’s eyes scan the business names on their left, and Murphy’s read the ones on the right, until the blonde grips his brother’s arm and nods his head to a business not even a block away.

 

They’ve found McGinty’s.

 


	19. Dreaming, pick up from the last place we left off

Chapter Nineteen—Dreaming, pick up from the last place we left off

 

Connor leads them into the bar, his eyes darting this way and that. As they walk through the door, the biting wind at their back is replaced by a warm burst of air, and the traffic behind them is drowned out by the loud, raucous crowd inside.

 

Murphy can feel Connor’s body tense, and he presses his shoulder against his brother’s. He feels Connor glance at him, and then his brother strides forward through the crowd, bolstered by his fervent need to protect Murphy. He can’t do that if they’re homeless, after all.

 

He needs to find Doc.

 

Connor makes a beeline for the bar, Murphy close on his heels. He maneuvers his way through the thick crowd, and he’s surprised to hear quite a few accents like his own around him. His eyes land on an older man behind the bar, his gray hair and glasses askew as he vigorously wipes down a mug.

 

“Oi!” Connor yells over the crowd. The older man looks up, and cocks his head a bit before walking closer to the boys.

 

“W-what d-d-d’ya want s-s-so…boyo?” The man asks. Before Connor can answer him, the man turns his head, and says to nobody, it seems, “Fuck! Ass!”

 

Connor’s eyes widen imperceptibly at this, but he doesn’t comment on it. The man wasn’t looking at him when he cursed, so he figures it’s got nothing to do with him.

 

“’m lookin’ fer Doc. Was told I could find ‘im here,” Connor says slowly. The man’s eyes narrow slightly, and Connor watches as his gaze darts from the blonde’s face to slightly behind him, where Connor knows that Murphy is.

 

The older twin resists the urge to shift to his left so that the man can’t stare at his brother. The old man’s eyes focus back on his face, and he smiles widely, disarming Connor completely. Something in the old man’s eyes tells Connor that he knows what the blonde was thinking.

 

“Yer C-C-Connor, then?” the man asks. But it doesn’t sound like a question. His eyes dart to the darker twin. “An’ M-M-Murphy? Aye, I’d b-b-bet me l-l-life on it. Ye g-g-got yer D-D-Da eyes, boyo. Fuck!”

 

Murphy presses his shoulder against Connor’s back as he leans forward. “Doc? How’d ye know us? We’ve never even heard o’ ye,” he says. Connor just watches the man. He’s always been suspicious of people who just seem to know things.

 

Doc nods and waves a hand dismissively. “O’ c-c-course I know ye, yer D-D-D-Da talks o’ ye both all te t-t-time!Even ye, M-Murphy! Te pictures yer Ma sent t-t-te him, ‘e ch-ch-ch… loved ‘em. Fuck!”

 

“What?” Connor says loudly, his silence broken. Doc’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head, his face a mask of guilt, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. “Sh-shit, I shouldn’t o’ said t-tat.”

 

Murphy and Connor exchange glances. They come to an agreement in a matter of seconds without speaking aloud.

 

_It’s not our place te ask this man about what our parents did. We’ll ask Da about it all later._

 

With an infinitesimal nod, Murphy takes over charming the man before them. He grins as Doc, who stops berating himself when he sees the bright smile on the darker twin’s face.

 

“Don’ worry about it, ‘m sure Da’ll understand,” he says smoothly. “Anyway, yer right. I’m Murphy, tis is Connor, an’ we were sent ‘ere by Da. Seekin’ safe haven, as it were. ‘e said te come ‘ere, that ye might have a place fer us te stay.”

 

Doc smiles back. “’course, b-b-boyos! Got a room in t-t-e back! Follow me! Ass!”

 

When Doc turns to lead them around to the back of the bar, the boys exchange smirks. They could have fun with the man’s affliction, but they’d never do it out of meanness. Maybe if they all had a chance to become friends, first.

 

The boys trail behind Doc as he walks through a door behind the bar, which opens into a hallway. The old man unlocks and opens the last door at the end and hands Connor the key. He smiles warmly at them, his eyes misty.

 

“I never t-tought I’d g-g-get te chance te meet you boys. Ye look like yer Ma, Murphy. Same d-dark hair, same b-blue eyes. Fuck!” He coughs lightly into his hand. “And C-Connor. I can see yer D-Da in ye, boyo. B-but yer stronger t-tan him, I tink.” He sends the boys a wink at their stunned expressions. “S-sleep well, fellas. B-breakfast is at nine. Ass!”

 

Doc claps both of their shoulders and heads back to the bar, leaving Connor and Murphy to head into the room and lock it behind them. Connor sighs as he leans against the wooden door, pocketing the key and scanning room quietly. Murphy moves ahead of him and sits wearily on one of the twin beds, placing his head in his hands.

 

“Y’alright?” Connor asks softly. Murphy huffs a laugh into his palms before he lowers his hands and meets his brother’s eyes.

 

“C’mere, ye fucker,” Murphy says, his voice rough with exhaustion. Connor knew that the lighthearted face he put on for Doc earlier was put on, but now he sees just how tired his twin is. He moves closer, and Murphy grabs his hips and pulls him in, resting his head on Connor chest and wrapping his arms low around the blonde’s waist.

 

Connor doesn’t hesitate to run his hands into the dark hair in front of him, rubbing Murph’s scalp gently. Murphy groans, his body melting against Connor’s. “Can’t believe we’re here,” the darker twin mutters, his voice dark.

 

Connor remains quiet, unsure what to say. He listens the Murphy’s breathing and continues rubbing his scalp, waiting patiently. He knows his darker twin has more to say.

 

A few moments pass before Murphy exhales harshly. He pulls away abruptly and stands up quickly, his body pressed flush to Connor’s for a second before he moves away to pace in the small room. He can only take three large steps before he has to turn around and pace back, and his eyes are flashing when they land on his brother.

 

“What?” Connor asks, a note of defensiveness in his tone.

 

Murphy exhales heavily, and shifts his eyes to the floor, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Nothin’,” he mutters, turning his back to Connor.

 

“Nah, not nothin’. You have somethin’ te say, ten say it,” Connor says heatedly. He knows he shouldn’t push Murphy, is aware that his twin is on the edge and in danger of falling off of it.

 

But Connor can’t catch him if Murphy never falls. And, ashamedly, he realizes that he wants to be the one to save his brother. Wants the boy to need him like he is needed by Connor.

 

Murphy turns quickly at the belligerence in the blonde’s voice, and anger flashes across his features. _“This!”_ he cries. “What te fuck’re we supposed te do here, Con? We got no money, no jobs. An’ we’re alone, save an old man who curses at te air around ‘im! Was all tis really _worth_ it, in the end?”

 

Connor can feel it when his heart cracks down the center. He knows Murphy sees it on his face when the darker twin winces, but Connor turns before he can try to take back his words.

 

“Fuck, Connor, I didn’ mean tat. O’ course tis is worth bein’ wit ye. It’s just…” Murphy sighs dejectedly and places a hand on Connor’s shoulder, which the blonde throws off before stalking to the door. He needs to get out, needs some air.

 

Before he can put his hand on the doorknob, Murphy is blocking his way, hands up in supplication. “Please, brother,” he says desperately. “Please believe me, I didn’ mean that.” His earnest blue eyes are fixed on Connor’s face, and the pleading in his voice shatter a bit of the ice around the blonde’s heart.

 

Connor sighs harshly. “Wha’d ye mean then?”

 

Murphy’s eyes stay locked on his brothers as he speaks, honesty obvious in his tone. “All tis…bein’ wit ye. I’ve never felt so…whole. I know tat sounds pansy, but I mean it. But that don’t mean I don’t regret anytin. Ma will never know what really happened. Even if we see her again, I can never be honest wit her. And I don’t even know if we _will…_ ” Murphy cuts off when his voice cracks with emotion. He visibly steels himself before continuing.

 

“I love ye Connor. But I love Ma, too. An’ I know you do as well, but she’s te only one tat’s been there since day one, ye know? She’s loved me all me life, an’ I don’t know what it’s like te live without that,” Murphy finishes, his voice heavy with grief.

 

Connor’s eyes are wide as he answers. “Ye never have te know what tat’s like, Murph. _I_ love ye. More than anythin’. You’ll never know what it feels like te go a day without bein’ loved, not as long as I’m still brethin’.” He pulls his brother into an embrace, tucking the darker boy’s head into the crook of his shoulder and running his hands through Murphy’s raven hair.

 

He continues in a whisper, soft and reverent. “An’ we’ll see her again. She’ll be worried, aye, but we’ll get word to her, let ‘er know we’re alright. And we’ll find a way to see her. But don’t ever feel like yer alone in missin’ her, Murphy. We share that, too. Just as we share everythin’ else.”

 

Murphy nods into Connor’s shoulder, breathing in his scent. It’s stale from traveling, but he still smells like _Connor_ , and Murphy can feel his body relaxing.

 

When they pull apart what feels like eons later, the boys find their way to the bathroom and take turns showering off the stench of the road before collapsing into bed together and falling asleep curled around each other. They sleep without dreaming.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Months pass. Doc, who is funnier and warmer than he seemed even that first night, gets them jobs at the docks where a lot of their fellow Irishmen and women have found employment. Connor and Murphy take to the work like fish to water, having had hard work ethic instilled in them since birth by both parents.

 

They find a small apartment a few blocks away from Doc’s place, and the day they move in the boys christen every square inch as soon as they walk in the door. The previous months were spent practicing chastity, as the walls were too thin to hope that Doc would not hear them.

 

The morning after their first night in the apartment, Murphy wakes on the full-sized mattress they have lying on the floor to the sight of Connor snoring gently, face down in his pillow. He has his arms wrapped around Murphy’s own pillow, which explains why Murph woke sans any form of cushioning other than the mattress itself.

 

The previous day, after they had worn themselves out on each other, the twins had taken the time to run to the furniture store down the road where they were surprised with a mattress that Doc had already purchased for them as a house-warming gift. That hour out of the apartment was worth the time spent getting dressed and keeping their hands to themselves, as it saved Murphy’s back considerably as Connor had the tendency to pound him into the floor, regardless of the burn it caused on his back. Of course, while it was happening Murphy had no complaints. It was only after the fact that he felt annoyed at his brother’s enthusiasm.

 

Murphy yawns widely and looks around the cold apartment, wondering how dire his need for coffee is as he shivers beneath the covers.

 

Given that he’s freezing and Connor is hogging most of the blankets, he figures he might as well go now. Sighing, Murphy starts to ease out of the bed, but is stopped when Connor grunts and shoots an arm out to wrap around his chest.

 

“Con,” he whispers quietly. His brother snorts in response, and Murphy rolls his eyes as he realizes the blonde is still quite asleep.

 

He starts to try to pull his brother’s arm away from his middle, but Connor’s other arm snakes around him and his fingers slide through Murphy’s hair, holding him in place. Murphy gasps in surprise at being embraced and pulled into Connor’s chest, and lifts his gaze to see his brother’s bright blue eyes open and twinkling in mischief.

 

“Mornin’, love,” Connor murmurs softly. Murphy shivers again, but this time for a wholly different reason. Connor gathers Murph even closer to him so that their chests are flush and pulls him into a kiss, pressing his plush lips to his brother’s tenderly.

 

Connor pulls back after a moment to smile warmly at the sight of Murphy sleep-flushed and aroused, his hair askew and cheeks pink from the cold.

 

“Let me warm ye up, aye?” Connor says, and pulls Murphy in for another kiss, this one less tender and much more fervent.

 

Murphy grunts into his mouth as Connor deepens the kiss. He runs his tongue along the darker twin’s lips, and Murphy open his mouth readily, hungry for Connor’s taste. He hears a groan, and he’s not sure whom it came from, but he doesn’t really care. He’s in heaven.

 

Connor’s fingers tighten in Murphy’s locks, and he tugs. Before Murphy can react, he’s on his back, and Connor is straddling his hips, pressing his tongue insistently into his mouth.

 

He kisses Connor again, softly this time, and the heat between them changes. It’s no longer an inferno, but a slow burn. Connor presses his hand flat against Murphy’s belly, transferring his own heat to his brother to warm him up in the cold apartment. Through the touch, he can _feel_ how much Murphy wants him.

 

It almost matches the intensity of his own lust.

 

Murphy moans into his mouth as Connor runs his hand up his belly to his chest, where he gently tweaks a nipple.

 

“Fuck, Con,” Murphy murmurs as he lifts his back up off of the mattress. Connor presses his naked chest to his brother’s, thrusting his hips against Murphy’s frantically. He’s rewarded when his twin’s hands pull him closer by his arse while meeting his movements with his own hips.

 

Connor can feel Murphy’s cock, hard and demanding, against his own, and he pushes harder against the pressure, increasing the friction between them.

 

Murphy works one hand between their naked bodies to grasp their pricks together, causing them to moan in unison. Connor’s arms buckle where he’s holding himself above his twin, and he leans his forehead against Murphy’s collarbone, breathing shaky.

 

“Alrigh’, brother?” Murphy murmurs into Connor’s neck. The blonde nods, his arms straightening as he regains his composure, and he begins thrusting again, this time into Murphy’s firm grip. Murphy moves his hand faster, pushing his own hips up to meet Connor’s movements, the white-hot swirl of pleasure in his belly growing with each brush of their cocks together.

 

“Fuck, Murph,” Connor grunts when the darker twin uses his thumb to swipe across the heads of both of their cocks. Connor’s hips stutter, and he groans low and long as his movements increase in pace. “’m gonna cum,” he says on a moan.

 

“Cum, then,” Murphy says softly, his breath hot against Connor’s ear as he presses the hand not moving on their cocks deeper into the flesh of Connor’s arse. His fingers brush against the blonde’s hole, and Connor yells Murphy’s name as he comes all over his brother’s stomach, his hips still moving through his orgasm.

 

Murphy’s hand tightens around their pricks as he follows Connor over the edge, breath hitching and hand squeezing his twin’s arse when his limbs lock up in ecstasy.

 

Connor is still for a moment before he collapses on top of his brother, his whole body feeling like a bag of potatoes. Murphy grunts when the blonde’s weight suddenly falls on him, and unclenches his hold on Connor’s arse to give it a smack.

 

“Oi, ye great heavy lug, get off me,” Murphy says, a strain in his voice as he tries to breathe. Connor grunts but doesn’t move. Murphy huffs, regretting it instantly when he realizes it’s nearly impossible for him to draw in a new breath. “Mean it, Con. I’ll kick ye in te jewels,” Murphy manages to get out.

 

“Ye’d never,” Connor mutters, but he moves to lay beside his brother, laughing softly when Murphy inhales dramatically when he can breathe again.

 

The boys lay quietly for a moment, regaining their breath, before Connor takes the pillowcase off of his pillow in order to wipe them down. He starts with his brother, wiping their combined come off his belly with care, then cleans himself and throws the cloth to the floor. He sighs heavily, his eyes fixed warmly on his brother.

 

“At least we’re warm now, aye?” Connor asks softly, his hand extended in invitation.

 

“Aye,” Murphy says through a smile, moving into his twin’s embrace and laying his head on the blonde’s chest.

 

The boys fall back asleep, Murphy’s warm breath ghosting across his brother’s chest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When the sun comes up the next morning, Connor stretches out his limbs and realizes that he’s alone in bed. Murphy opens the door at that moment, carrying two cups of coffee and a small bag, and then closes the door behind him.

 

Connor blinks rapidly to wake himself up and shifts until he’s sitting up. His brow furrows at his darker half, who hands a coffee to him with a smile on his face. “Why’d ye go wit’out me?”

 

Murphy sits beside him and takes a sip of coffee before answering. Connor wraps his hands around his own cup, grateful for the warmth. “Jus’ didn’t wanna wake ye. Looked so peaceful.” Murphy shrugs.

 

Connor looks at him, his brother, and smiles gently. “Wha’d ye get me?”

 

Murphy tosses him the bag, and Connor digs through it eagerly and pulls out a danish. “Mmmm, apple. Ye know te way te me heart, Murph.”

 

“Aye, that I do,” Murphy says softly, leaning in for a kiss. Connor meets him halfway, their lips bruised and swollen from the previous day’s adventures.

 

Murphy hums happily and pulls away, his hand going to the inside of his coat as Connor looks back to his breakfast. He lifts his apple danish to his mouth, groaning at the taste and licking his lips to gather any crumbs that might have stuck there.

 

Connor’s eyes go to his brother when Murphy pulls out what looks like an envelope and holds it in his lap.

 

“Who’s that from, then?” Connor asks, taking another bite.

 

“Da,” Murphy replies with a smirk.

 

Connor spits out his food, hacking hoarsely, while Murphy guffaws in delight.

 

“Ye fuckin’ prick!” Connor says, his voice currently making him sound like a frog.

 

Murphy giggles, actually fucking _giggles_ , as he hands Connor a coffee to help. Connor takes a sip, still glaring, but not actually angry. He feels like it’s been weeks since he saw Murphy so carefree and happy. Even when they manage to have fun together, there’s always that weight of leaving their family behind that weighs on them.

 

Connor’s heart feels lighter as he gulps down some coffee. Murphy’s bright eyes bring joy to heart. He only hopes that he can bring that shine to his eyes one day. That he’ll be enough to make Murph happy again.

 

Murphy wipes under his eyes dramatically, as if scrubbing off tears of laughter, and grins at his lighter twin. “Ye love it when I’m a prick, admit it.”

 

Connor grunts, pretending to be annoyed, and makes a mad grab for the letter, but Murphy moves smoothly to his feet and slides gracefully away. “Ah-ah-ah, Con, ye gotta learn some patience,” he scolds, mischief in his eyes.

 

Connor pretends to sneer and stands awkwardly atop the mattress and blankets, stark naked and shivering, holding his hand out towards his brother. “Give it te me, or I’ll take it from ye.”

 

Murphy cocks his head, the hand not holding letter moving to his mouth so he can gnaw on his thumbnail. “Try it, then.”

 

Before the words have even fully left his mouth, Connor is lunging at him, grabbing him about the waist and lifting him off his feet. Murphy yelps and struggles, trying to get free. He manages to get an arm loose and ends up elbowing Connor in the side of the head.

  
Connor shouts out in surprise and abruptly releases his brother, who slumps to the floor, boneless with laughter again. Connor rubs his head, which doesn’t really hurt much, and lets out a laugh before he can stop it. Murphy looks up at him, fully aware that Connor is not as mad as he is pretending to be, his eyes shining in delight.

 

Connor shakes his head and defeat and moves to the bed to grab the biggest blanket they have off of it and drag it over to where Murphy is still sprawled on the floor. He sits beside him, draping the soft material over both of them and pulling Murphy into his side. The darker twin moves easily into Connor’s embrace, his head moving to rest against Connor’s sternum.

 

They sit there, breathing quietly for a moment before the silence is broken.

 

“Da, huh?” Connor says softly.

 

“Aye,” Murphy replies, his voice almost a whisper. He clears his throat, and his next words are a bit louder. “He wants us to know tat no one else found out about us. And tat he’s gonna come te Boston in a couple weeks te see us.” A wide smile breaks across his face. “Says he’s bringing Ma with ‘im.”

 

“What?” Connor almost shouts, his mouth open in shock. And then he starts laughing. “There’s no _way_ we’re lettin’ both of tem stay wit us, Murph. We’d all kill each other!”

 

“I’ll be surprised if they don’t murder one another on te way over here,” Murphy replies, chuckling. “They’re two of te most bull-headed, frustrating people I ever met.”

 

“Two of, eh? Are either of them at te top o’ yer list?” Connor asks.

 

“Oh, Con,” Murphy says, his voice laced with saccharine sweetness. “Ye know tat no one can beat _you_. Yer at te top o’ all of my lists.”

 

Connor uses the advantage of their positions to give his brother a noogie, laughing uproariously when Murph tries to wriggle away. When the blonde lets him go, Murphy collapses to the floor beside him, indignantly smoothing down his hair.

 

“Oh, I’ll get ye fer that, Connor Macmanus,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

 

Connor grins widely, spreading his hands out on either side in invitation. “Try it, then.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuses for the wait, just school and life. I'm sorry if this chapter is a let down. Not much action, it's really just a wrap up chapter. This was generally an au of how they might've gotten to Boston and became the Saints, and since they arrived in the previous chapter, this is simply to round off the story. I hope know one was looking for another arc in the story or anything. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who read this little story and who gave me inspiration to keep writing. I love all of your comments and kudos, and just THANK YOU. Writing is so nerve wracking, so having nice people respond to you and let you know what you did correctly and what needs improving is really helpful.
> 
> Thanks again!

**Author's Note:**

> I love reviews and constructive criticism. I don't love flaming.
> 
> Thank you!


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